


The Wolf Hunts

by Luke1813



Category: Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Action/Adventure, F/M, Romance, Spiritual
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-01
Updated: 2018-03-19
Packaged: 2019-01-28 04:03:06
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 20
Words: 149,569
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12597712
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Luke1813/pseuds/Luke1813
Summary: While the Third Northern War rages on around them, Geralt and his friends search for a powerful Elven artifact - an artifact tied to a cryptic prophecy. An artifact that could end the war and bring to the Continent long sought-after peace...or total destruction. This is Part 2 of The Witcher 4 trilogy and the sequel to The Wolf Awakens. Reading that story first is highly recommended. This tale contains heavy existential, philosophical, and religious themes.I am trying to become a better writer so feedback - both positive and negative - is welcome.





	1. Chapter 1

Author’s Note (July 2017):

This is Part 2 of The Witcher 4 trilogy. It is a slow-paced, character-driven sequel to The Wolf Awakens, and you will need to read that tale first in order to understand this one. This story contains heavy existential, philosophical, and religious themes.

 

Warnings: Contains major spoilers of both books and games. Not 100% canon compliant.

 

Disclaimer: This is a derivative work based on the characters and universe created and owned by Andrzej Sapkowski and/or CD Projekt Red. This was simply written for my and, hopefully, your enjoyment.

 

oOo

_965 Years Ago_

 

            Maccarreg, second son of Gaineamh, shielded his eyes from the blinding desert sun and squinted into the distance, unsure if what he was seeing was salvation or destruction.

 

            “What do you think, brother?” asked Taibhsear deferentially, standing to his left.

 

            “Well, it _looks_ like an oasis…” he replied in a whisper and then glanced at his brother - three years his senior – out of the corner of his eye.

 

As the eldest, Taibhsear had followed in Gaineamh’s path and, upon his father’s death, had become the Aen Seidhe nation’s priest. But the true leader of the exiled elves was, without question, the younger sibling.  Maccarreg – just past elven hundred years of age – possessed incredible wisdom; and his faith in Essea was surpassed by none, but perhaps most importantly, he always seemed to put both that wisdom and faith into action. And that’s what naturally drew others to him, though he, himself, had never sought out nor ever even wanted a position of leadership.

 

“…but, I trust nothing in this forsaken desert to be for good,” continued Maccarreg.

 

The two were standing alone on top of a high, barren sand dune facing the oasis to the west. A couple of miles beyond it stood an imposing mountain range.

 

“Understandably so. How many have we already lost on our journey? And it’s only been a week,” softly stated the Aen Seidhe priest. “But, look behind you, Maccarreg, we’re about to die from thirst. We have to risk it.”

 

“I don’t have to look behind me, Taibhsear. I’m fully aware of the situation,” stated the physically weary elf.

 

In the last seven days, their caravan of five hundred elves had been attacked by a sundry of monsters and beasts that Maccarreg had never laid eyes on before, and he was no stranger to post-Conjunction creatures. Most disconcertingly had been the attack by ursine-sized monsters on day four of the journey.  The creatures may have had the mass of a bear, but they more closely resembled an insect - their bodies low to the ground and multiple legs attached to each side of their thorax.  The appendages closest to the head were actually enormous pinchers that were capable of cutting a fully-grown elf in two. But, as dangerous as those pinchers were, the monsters’ most lethal attribute was their long, curved tails that ended in a hard, spear-like tip that they whipped through the air, impaling anything and everything in sight.  The rampaging beasts had killed dozens of Aen Seidhe, mauled the only pack animals within the caravan, and, to finish things off, ruptured the one and only water tank being drawn in a camel-pulled wagon. In less than a week, the elves had lost half their party, two-thirds of their warriors, and their entire water supply.

 

Taibhsear shook his head. “Do you understand this? I thought this was Essea’s hand. That our return was under his blessing,” the elven priest said under his breath.

 

            Maccarreg shook his head as well and whispered back, “No, I don’t.  I believed it to be his will, too. Otherwise, we would’ve waited, but…this journey definitely seems cursed.”

 

He then sighed deeply and turned his head again to look at his brother with a smirk.

 

“But, as father always said, ‘As the heavens are higher than the earth…”

 

            “‘…so are Essea’s plans higher than our plans and his thoughts higher than our thoughts,’” repeated the brothers in unison, now both wearing smiles on their faces.

 

            “Right. So, then, what _is_ the plan?” asked the elder sibling.

 

            “Well, we both believe this is his will…so let’s continue forward, toward the oasis…but keep our weapons drawn.”

 

oOo

 

            Maccarreg just sighed and shook his head as he watched the entire mob of elves running down the sand dune towards the oasis.   He had listened to Taibhsear inform the Aen Seidhe of the necessity for caution, but at the first mention of water, they had lost their collective minds and took off with haste towards the cool liquid.  He and his dozen warriors were running behind them, eyes scanning the surroundings, hoping that they wouldn’t actually be needed as a protection detail for once. 

 

            After about two minutes of watching his elven kith and kin – either kneeling or prostrate -  guzzling down the clear blue water, Maccarreg began to relax just a bit. Perhaps this _was_ simply an oasis sent by Essea.  Surrounding the water was lush, fertile, green vegetation, including some smaller shrubs and – Maccarreg had learned in his travels – a few tall palm trees. He was just about to sheath his sword and kneel down for some water himself when his eyes picked up something odd.  Out in the oasis, in several spots, he noticed disturbed silt from the bottom slowly rising upward and spreading throughout the clear spring.  He peered closer, but he couldn’t see anything that could be causing the agitation of the oasis bed, and the muddy water was simply too far away from the edge for the elves to have been the source. And then he saw an air bubble rise to the surface and pop.

 

            His eyes going wide, Maccarreg yelled, “Stop drinking! Back away! Back away!”

 

            Suddenly, several pink, rope-like tendrils – half the thickness of an elf’s wrist - shot out of the water, each one wrapping around an elf’s neck, arm, or waist. As the now-screaming elves were yanked into the water, monsters leapt from the muddy bottom below.  Maccarreg immediately realized that the tendrils were actually these creatures’ long, whip-like tongues which were pulling the elves into their elongated jaws, filled with rows and rows of teeth.

 

The once clear, tranquil water of the oasis suddenly morphed into violently churning chaos, suffused reddish-brown with the blood of elves.  Dozens of lizard-like beasts – the size of a large dogs – moved quickly out of the water and began attacking the now fleeing Aen Seidhe. As the elves ran, the monsters propelled their tongues, twisting them around ankles or knees, causing their prey to fall to the ground.  Maccarreg ran to the closest, downed-elf and sliced through the tongue that was wrapped around his ankles.  The beast hissed violently, and blood sprayed through the air as the monster’s tongue retracted quickly into its mouth.  Maccarreg scanned his surroundings to see many of his warriors had come up with the same solution.  This maneuver did not cause the beasts to retreat, however.   They simply continued their attack of the exhausted Aen Seidhe, catching them in their powerful snapping jaws.  Dozens of cries filled Maccarreg’s ears.  He looked around to see elves being dragged down into the water while others were on the desert sand being mauled by sharp claws and teeth.  

 

oOo

 

            Thirty minutes later, Maccarreg – breathing heavily and his clothing soaked through with sweat and blood – looked about the oasis. The ground was covered with dozens of injured elves and an even greater number of corpses – corpses of both Aen Seidhe and the lizard-like creatures.  He shook his head in disgust as he realized that they had lost nearly a third of their number to the oasis death-trap. Then, his eyes landed on one body in particular, causing his breath to catch in his throat.  He then exhaled deeply, lowered his head, and closed his eyes. After a moment, he raised his head and began slowly walking towards his brother. Upon reaching the corpse, Maccarreg stared down into his best friend’s dead eyes. He then knelt next to Taibhsear and said a silent prayer, his hand resting on his brother’s shoulder.  Once he was finished, he reached over, carefully lifted the strap of a leather satchel over his sibling’s head, and then placed the satchel diagonally across his own body. The physically-depleted Aen Seidhe leader slowly stood – with the thick bag now resting against his right hip -  turned around, and peered at the mountain range off in the distance.  That was their next destination.  Essea help them with whatever awaited them there.

 

oOo

 

            Monster-blood dripped off of Maccarreg’s sword as he stood exhausted inside the enormous mountain cavern. He had a small smile on his face as he looked slightly upward towards the exit, catching a glimpse of the bright, blue sky that was waiting for him on the outside. He had no idea where the rest of his scout team was for most had dispersed throughout the cavern when the strange, mountain creatures had attacked.  He had just made up his mind to go looking for them when he suddenly heard a cry coming from behind.  He quickly turned and saw that one of his tribe was battling another mountain-dwelling monster along a narrow, rock walkway – the one that he had just crossed - that traversed a dark abyss inside the cavern.  Maccarreg watched helplessly as the monster, falling over the edge of the walkway, grabbed an elf named Anaseth and pulled her along with it.  The female elf twisted free from the monster’s grip but still lost her footing.  She fell off the walkway, her upper body and arms slamming against the stone.  She frantically searched for anything to grab ahold of as her torso slipped quickly towards the edge.

 

Maccarreg simultaneously sheathed his sword and began sprinting towards the yelling elf.  He dove headfirst as he saw Anaseth’s head and hands slip over the edge.  The elven leader’s right hand just caught her left wrist, but he quickly realized that the momentum of his leap and her extra weight were pulling him over the edge, as well.  Gritting his teeth, he reached out with his left hand, desperately clawing at the smooth, stone surface, his fingernails cracking as he tried to dig them in to get a grip. But the rock was too hard, too smooth, and too slick with monster blood. His sweaty hand simply had nothing on which to grab.

 

At that point, anyone else would have simply let go of the other elf so that they could then use both hands to save themselves, but that never crossed Maccarreg’s mind.  The Aen Seidhe warrior’s right leg then fell over the edge, twisting his torso so that his left leg also quickly followed.  The jarring movement caused Anaseth to slip from his grip, and the aged elf looked down and yelled, “No!” as he watched her plummet into the blackness, her screams filling his ears on her way down.  Immediately, Maccarreg reached up his now-free right hand to grasp at anything, but it was too late. As the rest of his body rapidly slid towards the abyss, he suddenly lifted his eyes upward – and if anyone had been there to look into them, they would have testified to the peace therein.

 

The elven warrior whispered, “Essea, keep me,” as he disappeared over the edge, falling silently into the dark void below.

 

oOo

 

_Vizima, Temeria, July 1273_

            The eyes of Fringilla Vigo wandered over Malek’s muscular, bare chest.  The mountain of a man lay on his back in a bed, with the sheets turned down to his waist.  Eventually, she shifted her gaze to his left shoulder, which possessed a raised, bright-pink, star-shaped scar.  She nodded her head at what she saw.

 

            “It looks good.  How does it feel?” she asked Malek.

 

            He rolled his shoulder forward and back several times and then nodded his head.

 

“It’s functional,” he replied.  Then, looking into the sorceress’ eyes, he continued, “I truly appreciate your help. I do recognize that, without it, it’d take me weeks to fully recover.”

 

            She nodded her head back at him. “It was my pleasure.  Have you perhaps changed your view regarding the usefulness of magic? You were quite vehement yesterday in your protestations of allowing me to heal you. Luckily, you passed out from blood-loss, or we might still be arguing.” She had the faintest of smirks on her face.

 

            The soldier smiled briefly. “I’ve _never_ doubted its usefulness. My hesitancy has been primarily with those who have wielded it. No offense…but I’ve never found any of you particularly trustworthy.  And just because something is useful, doesn’t make safe.”

 

            The sorceress nodded her head and then shifted her gaze back to his shoulder.  She then reached out with her small hand and gently traced the edge of his fresh scar with her fingertips. Malek wasn’t sure if she was using magic on his wound or not, but either way, her touch felt good, he thought to himself. When she was done, she left her hand resting on his bare skin and looked back into Malek’s eyes.

 

            “You are correct, of course. But… _nothing_ in this world is safe.  Everything carries an associated risk, and typically…the endeavors that promise the greatest reward also have the highest risk attached. We simply have to ask ourselves, ‘Is it worth it?’”

 

            Malek stared back into the sorceress’s eyes for a very long pause.

 

“Why do I get the feeling that we’re no longer talking specifically about magic?”

 

            Before Fringilla could respond, the door opened and in walked the Emperor of Nilfgaard.  She immediately removed her hand from Malek’s shoulder and took a step backward.

 

            “Leave us,” Emhyr directed towards Fringilla, who bowed her head and then left the room, closing the door behind her.

 

            The Emperor then sat in the chair near the foot of Malek’s bed and slowly crossed his legs.

 

            He didn’t say anything for several moments. He finally spoke in a slow and deliberate manner.

 

“Given your relationship to the people involved, I recognize the possibility that this latest mission may be difficult for you…Are you conflicted? Should I seek a replacement?”

 

            Upon hearing this, Malek sat up in bed and stared at Emhyr.

 

            “No, Your Majesty. There’s no conflict. Why do you ask now?”

 

            “Because I can’t remember the last time that you failed me.  It causes me to ask certain questions.”

 

            “Emhyr, I have shown my loyalty to you for _decades_ and to Nilfgaard for even longer. And our plans haven’t failed, they’ve just been postponed.”

           

            Emhyr slammed the arm of his chair. “I can’t afford postponements. Do you understand? I don’t just need that sword, but I need it _now_.” He then inhaled deeply to compose himself, leaned back in the chair, and stated calmly, “I hope you possess the same sense of urgency in this matter as I do.  For if I fall, do not think for an instant that my usurper will permit any of my inner-circle, including you, to live.”   

 

            “I have no illusions,” Malek responded gravely.

 

            The two men then simply stared into each other’s eyes as silence filled the room. Finally, the Emperor turned his head and raised his voice for the sorceress to enter.  After she approached, Emhyr pulled a parchment from an inner pocket and handed it to Fringilla.

 

            “Take this to the commander at the garrison at Aldersberg,” he commanded.

 

            The sorceress bowed towards the Emperor, and then shot a quick glance in Malek’s direction before leaving the room.

 

            As the Nilfgaardian leader stood from his chair, he spoke softly. “The Aen Seidhe elves no longer serve any purpose for Nilfgaard.  You should have killed them all when you were there. Your mistake will soon be rectified.”

 

Malek narrowed his eyes and shook his head. “Please tell me that, in those orders, you at least warned them about the wraith in the palace.  Otherwise, you just sentenced countless men to their graves.”

 

“I am starting to think that you are forgetting your place, Malek. Since when do you question me?”

 

“Since you gave me permission to… _many_ years ago.  Since when do _you_ decide to exterminate an entire race simply out of anger?  If you no longer consider them allies, then so be it, but don’t make them our enemies any more than they already are. How is that for the good of the Empire?”

 

Emhyr’s eyes flashed. “Comparing me to Radovid, now?”

 

“If the crown fits…”

 

“Enough,” the Emperor said sternly.  “I have permitted you to voice your opinion. My decision stands.”

 

With that, Emhyr stood and walked towards the door. He opened it, but before exiting, he turned and faced Malek.

 

“The trail is fresh, Malek. Find your niece, and find the sword. Don’t come back until you do.”

 

oOo

_Southeastern Kaedwen; Two days later_

 

“So, how do I look?” asked the witcher.

 

            Evie, standing in front him, had her head tilted slightly to one side as if she was evaluating a painting. The witcher, who normally wore his long, white hair pulled back into a ponytail, certainly didn’t look like himself. His face was completely clean shaven, and his hair was very short – no longer than a finger’s height anywhere on his scalp.  Additionally, in order to conceal his cat-eyes, he was wearing some darkly-tinted glasses that he’d bought at the Borsodi Brother’s Auction House several months past during a particularly complicated and difficult contract.

 

            “Well, from a distance, no one would ever recognize you, but if anyone who knows what you look like gets up close…” she replied with a shrug.  “Face it, Geralt, your face is just too…” She paused, looking for the right word.

 

            “…ruggedly handsome?” offered the White Wolf, straight-faced.

 

            “…horribly scarred?” added Barcain with a smirk.

 

Evie shook her head and rolled her eyes at the both of them. 

 

“I was going to say, ‘unique,’” she replied, giving the witcher a smile. “But he is right.  That’s pretty noticeable,” she said, pointing at the scar that ran down the left side of his face.

 

“Damn it,” growled the monster-slayer.  “Well, there’s not much we can do about it right now.”

 

Geralt and Evie – along with her grandmother and brother – were up in the Blue Mountains looking down on the large town of Ban Ard.  They’d been camped there for the last several hours, all working to change their appearance, all at Geralt’s suggestion.

 

“We may be north of the Pontar, but that doesn’t mean we’re out of danger,” the witcher had pointed out earlier that morning.

 

“How so?” asked Barcain. “We’re out of Nilfgaardian-controlled land now. We should be safe, right?”

 

Geralt had shaken his head. “Don’t think for a second that they won’t cross the border in pursuit.  Also, I have no doubt that they have a network of spies already embedded in the north – spies who may already be informed about us. And don’t forget, Nilfgaard isn’t the only danger around. We’re now in land controlled by Radovid, who hates…well, everything, but especially everything non-human.  So, we really need to change up the way you look,” Geralt had said, pointing to Lydial, who instinctively reached up and covered her pointy ears with her hands. “Exactly.  In fact, we all need to change the way we look.  Right now, given that Evie seems to be the only one with sufficient knowledge of where the Sword might be, then the most important factor isn’t speed. It’s stealth. We just need to make sure they don’t find us.”

 

“So, what is your plan?” Evie had asked.

 

Geralt suddenly had a vision of old Mr. Blenham’s codpiece. The one that he had worn for all the world to see. The one that had concealed his stolen jewels from a long-ago war. 

 

Nodding his head, the witcher informed them, “We’ll hide in plain sight, blend in. Since they’ll be looking for a group of four, we’ll simply need to find another party to travel with.  And second…” Geralt then headed to his saddle bags and rummaged around for a bit.  When he turned around, he lifted his left hand to display a set of shears.

 

“Oh, dear,” replied Evie.

 

Now, several hours later, Geralt was evaluating the other three, nodding his head slightly at their new looks.  Barcain, previously having shoulder length hair, now sported a very short coiffure that clearly displayed his rounded ears while Lydial had rid herself of the elven braids and was wearing her long hair in a way that carefully covered her elven ears. Evie had cut off about seven or eight inches of her own hair so that it stopped just short of touching her collar bones, and she’d also pulled it back into a short ponytail.  

 

“It’s a start,” commented the witcher.  “But, we need to get rid of your clothes,” he added, looking at Barcain and Lydial. “Way too elvish.”

 

“Yeah? And then I can go by the alias, ‘Buck Naked,’” replied Barcain with a laugh.

 

The witcher looked at the man for a moment and then slowly turned his head to make eye-contact with Evie, who just shrugged her shoulders.

 

“Hey, I had to live with him for thirteen years.”

 

oOo

 

After having lived in the tiny outpost of Tarsus for the last two years, Evie had forgotten what an actual city was like, particularly just how loud they were.  As she and Geralt walked through the wide, dirt streets of Ban Ard, her ears were filled with a cacophony of barking dogs, playing children, hard-working construction crews, and yelling merchants.  After having already passed through the southern outskirts of town – where most of the lower, working-class and the few non-humans resided – with its smaller, one-story, thatched-roofed houses, they were now in the town proper, surrounded by brick or stone edifices, many of which were two to three stories tall. 

 

Like Tarsus, Ban Ard was a mining-town located near the Blue Mountains, but that’s where the similarities ended. While Tarsus was a relatively new settlement located down in the plains at the base of the mountains, Ban Ard was originally founded centuries ago when the valuable ore had been discovered. Additionally, Bar Ard was situated on a plateau midway up the range, giving the town’s residents a breath-taking view of the valley below.  This feature was one reason it was a vacation spot for many of the richer Kaedweni citizens – those few that could actually afford vacations.  Hence, the reason for the number of inns and small “bed-and-breakfast” establishments in the area, many of which were located on the banks of the small, clear, mountain lake that was just north of town. 

 

Maranatha Lake was, in actuality, the partially damned up Maranatha River that flowed down from the mountains and then continued west down into the valley towards the capital of Ard Carraigh, and it was this river and lake – along with the mining industry – that had been the original lifeforce of the town. It didn’t just supply the townsfolk with the necessary clean water for living, but it was also the reason that the plateau was rife with crops, forest trees, and an abundance of wildlife.  Dishes filled with rabbit, deer, and elk were routinely eaten by the Ban Ardians. And if they ever wanted a change of dietary pace, then there was the seemingly endless supply of salmon and mountain whitefish that populated the river itself.

 

The town’s size and energy couldn’t be attributed solely to the mining and tourism industries though.  The city also housed a large garrison of Kaedweni soldiers – or at least it had before the war - and it was also the home of the Ban Ard Magical Academy.  And since all of these folks – the miners, the soldiers, the mages, and the vacationing rich – all needed places to eat, to shop, and to be entertained, it was no wonder that tiny mining town had grown into the small city that it was. While Ard Carraigh may have been the home to the royal throne, almost everyone considered Ban Ard to be the real jewel of the kingdom of Kaedwen.

 

As they continued through the streets toward the center of town, Evie looked over at Geralt, walking by her side, and was still shocked by his appearance.  In addition to the changes he’d made to his face and hair, he had also taken his two swords off of his back.  His silver sword was attached to Roach’s saddle while he carried his steel sword on his left hip. He also wore a light-weight, dark brown, calf-length cloak that covered his witcher’s armor, and he had placed the cowl of the cloak over his head, as well. Just to be safe, he’d also hidden his medallion inside his clothes, resting against the skin of his chest, and put Ciri’s medallion in his front pocket.

 

As they stepped into the main square of Ban Ard, the noise level increased fivefold. Given that it was the summer months – prime vacationing season – the walkways and shops in the square were filled with a multitude of patrons.  It was quite easy to spot those on holiday compared to the folk who called Ban Ard their home year-round, for the vacationers wore expensive, brightly colored ensembles typically only found in high-end districts of large metropolitan areas like Beauclair, the capital city of Nilfgaard, Pont Vanis, and Novigrad. In the middle of the square were dozens of stalls and kiosks, with merchants selling fruits, vegetables, a variety of fish caught from the local lake, animal hides of all kinds, little trinkets of jewelry, and much more.  But there were few on holiday in this part of the square.  They mostly kept to the edges, in the actual shops, where the more expensive merchandise was on display.  All along the edge of the square, Evie saw cafes filled with patrons sitting under covered patios drinking beverages of all sorts. Other holiday-goers were enjoying their lunches up on the second-floor balconies of various restaurants.  In addition to a bank and what looked like a large town hall, filling out the rest of the main square’s shops were bookstores, inns, salons, art galleries, apothecaries, boutiques, and haberdasheries.  Gazing at the light-hearted, festive nature of the square, one could easily forget that the entire northern part of the continent was in the middle of a war.

 

Suddenly, the smell of cooked food hit Evie’s nose and moments later her stomach growled loudly.  The witcher slowly turned his head in her direction, and she looked at him with a small, embarrassed smile on her face.

 

“You didn’t get breakfast, did you?” he asked.

 

She shook her head. “No, we got busy with the make-overs.”

 

Geralt nodded. “How about we grab their clothes first, and then let’s get you some lunch.”

 

After Evie nodded in agreement, they made their way through the mass of humanity in the crowded square. Unbeknownst to them, Geralt – with the hood of his cloak covering his face and with his sword visible on his hip - had caught the eye of a man standing on a second-floor balcony of one of the town’s many restaurants.  The man turned his head and whistled while raising he left hand in a summoning gesture. Immediately, a half-dozen men appeared behind him.

 

oOo

 

            Evie and Geralt sat on a bench, underneath the shade of the leafy, lake-side pecan tree, with Evie eating her grilled elk on a stick. Geralt took the glasses off of his face – he found them quite annoying – and his eyes drifted over the various cottages and buildings dotting the shoreline of Maranatha Lake.  It had been a couple of years since he had last been in Ban Ard so there were a few new residences and businesses that had popped up, but his eyes stopped on one structure in particular.  Across the lake from where they sat, he could see an edifice that was clearly new to the town.

 

            “Hmm,” Geralt murmured lowly to himself, but Evie still heard him.

 

            “What is it?” she asked between bites of her lunch.

 

            “That open building right across from us, with the columns and the red-tiled roof.”

 

            Evie squinted her eyes.  “I can sort of make it out from here, but I don’t have your vision. What is it?”

 

            “A temple of the Eternal Fire.”

 

            “Really? Wow, I didn’t know that they’d made it out of Redania. I guess it makes sense, though…since Radovid now controls Kaedwen. I wonder what that means for the Magical Academy.”

 

The Ban Ard Magical Academy was located just north of the lake, separated from it by a small but dense forest.  It was the only magical school for sorcerers in the north, and it had been in its current location since before Geralt was born.  As it had only ever accepted male adepts within its walls, the magical academy of Aretuza on the Isle of Thanedd had been created in order to educate females in the art and science of magic. There was, naturally, a rivalry between the two schools on which could produce the most powerful wielders of magic, and, to no one’s surprise, both schools consistently claimed that they were superior to the other.

 

            “I should have known there was a temple here. I spotted a few witch hunters and temple guards in the streets earlier…which means that the Academy _has_ to be shut down,” the witcher answered.  “Hell, given their presence, I’m kind of surprised we didn’t see anyone burned at the stake as we walked through the square.”

 

            Evie shook her head. “I swear…the horrors that people do all in the name of their gods.”

 

            After a moment of silence, Geralt nodded his head and stated, “Yeah, but…even so, there is a part of me that respects _some_ aspects of the Eternal Fire.”

 

            Evie just turned her head to look at the witcher. “You’re kidding, right?”

 

            He shook his head. “Well, not their military arm, but a _few_ of the priests and the followers.”

           

            “Wait, I thought you’d said that you didn’t believe in the Eternal Fire. That you’d looked into their god and found it lacking,” she asked with furrowed brow.

 

            “Oh, I did…and it is.  I mean, seriously, who in their right mind would want to worship a flame?  An inanimate object can’t care for you, can’t act on your behalf. A flame can’t hear your pleas or answer your questions. What kind of comfort is there in that? I might as well be worshipping a piece of wood. God has clearly shown me that he is not an inanimate object. He’s revealed to me that he’s alive, that he’s the Great Artist, the Great Creator, which is the exact opposite of a flame, because fire does _not_ create.  It does nothing but destroy.  It wipes out forests, towns – everything in its wake.  Turns everything to ash.  And you’ve seen first-hand what fire does to people – burns them to a…crispy, empty, hard shell.  Fire is judgment. It just destroys and leaves no life afterward. It boggles my mind how anyone can find any kind of peace and hope in that religion.”

 

            Evie nodded her head and then shrugged.

 

“Perhaps, they simply see the flame as being the physical manifestation of God, and the fire – his judgment – is just one aspect of him. If I recall correctly, didn’t you say that judgment - justice - is an aspect of God that he’d have to possess if you were to worship him?” she asked, playing the devil’s advocate.  The academic in her loved these types of discussions.  

 

            “Yeah, but not the _only_ aspect.  I know that, one day, I’ll answer for all the evil that I’ve done.  I know that one day I’ll stand in front of the Creator God of the universe, and he’ll justly condemn me for the evil that’s within me, for living an unrighteous life.  I know that.  I know, deep down in my soul, that I’m guilty.  So…I need a God that can also – somehow – _save_ me through that fire. That will protect me through the flames.  A God who – in his judgment - might rightly use flames to burn away the evil that’s within my soul but that will also, somehow, heal me afterwards, apply salve to my burns, bandage my wounds. I need a God who will restore.

 

“And, if restoration or healing _is_ an aspect of the Eternal Fire, then it’s an aspect that is _never_ preached by its priests.  Trust me, I’ve listened – secretly – to countless sermons of theirs. I wanted to know exactly what their god was about.  And those priests never _once_ mentioned that their flame can somehow save me from my guilt.  They _never_ preach that their god can save me through the fire.  Hell, they preach that he _is_ the fire.  All they ever spout is that I should simply turn from my evil ways.  Otherwise, I’ll be swallowed by the flames.  But, I once asked a priest if I did turn from evil and started leading a perfect life according to the flame’s creed, then what would I do with all the guilt from all my sins that I’d committed prior to my repentance.  He looked at me like I’d grown an arm out of my forehead and just said that the flame would burn the guilt away.  But, there was nothing about restoration or healing afterwards.

 

“And you know what? Even if that weren’t the case, their god still does _me_ no good.  Even if the flame does heal and save, their religion isn’t inclusive.  Only _humans_ are deemed worthy of worshipping the flame. So, if you’re born a non-human or if you’re a mutant, like me, then you’re just…out of luck. You’re gonna burn. Not a lot of hope in that message.”   

 

            Evie nodded her head a couple of times. “Well, you’ve clearly thought about this, and you clearly don’t agree with their view of God.  So, then, what exactly do you respect about them?”

 

            “I may not agree with their message, but I do respect their commitment, their dedication. 

 

            “Yeah. Most fanatics _are_ quite committed,” Evie replied with a smile.

 

            The witcher smirked back. “Well, I didn’t say that I respected _them_ – and certainly not the militant ones…but I can respect their dedication. The priests, obviously, believe that living one’s life in accordance with the holy flame’s creed is the best and only way to live.  And they are clearly taking that belief and sharing it with others – because two years ago that temple wasn’t here and we’re on the far edge of Kaedwen…which tells me that they’ve probably erected temples in every major city between here and Redania.  And they’re sharing their message regardless of what kind of negative reception that they may receive.  I can respect that – acting in the face of ridicule, acting in spite of one’s fear.  I’ve met a lot priests who were completely hypocritical and lived private lives that were in direct opposition to the Eternal Fire’s creed, but I’ve also met a few who actually tried to be faithful to the religion’s teachings and allowed their beliefs to guide their behavior. I can respect that type of authenticity.”

 

            Evie nodded her head. “Okay. I can agree with that.  Commitment and dedication are fine qualities, but…I’d say it’s just as important to have ethics and morals and…discernment. To know if what you’re committed to is actually… ‘good.’ As you once told me, you’ve met people who were committed to simply watching the whole world burn.”

 

            Geralt nodded his head in agreement. “No doubt.” After a moment of silence, he added, “You know, you’re like the priests.”

 

            She smiled widely and asked, “What? So, I’m a fanatic, too?”

 

            The witcher shook his head. 

 

“Not a fanatic, but…you clearly have strong beliefs. Beliefs you’re committed to. You’ve shown me repeatedly how much you value life – be it your friends in Tarsus, your family, or those fetuses in the palace.”

 

            “I’m not sure that having a high regard for life makes me…special,” she responded.

 

Geralt gave a slight shrug.

 

“I think it does. It’s true that _most_ people care about their loved ones, and _some_ might even stand up for the weak.  But, you…you even cared about the lives of the three Nilfgaardian soldiers in your cabin, the lives of your enemies. Who does that?” he asked rhetorically with a shake of his head. “I don’t think I’ve ever met _anyone_ who actually cares about the lives of their enemies.

 

“But, more than that, you actually stand up for your beliefs in the face of opposition, in the face of danger.  You stood up to me when I wanted to kill those three soldiers.  You stood up to me when I wanted to leave the nekker nest be.  And you’ve been right by my side this entire journey – fighting nekkers, cirnabaugs, insane elves. You are, without a doubt, one of the kindest, most honorable, and most genuine people that I’ve ever met.”

 

The witcher paused for just a moment, nodding his head. 

 

“That’s rare to find in this world, and I respect you a great deal for it,” he finished, looking into her eyes.

 

            Evie blushed deeply and looked down for just a moment.  She then raised her eyes to meet his.  

 

“Thank you, Geralt. You don’t know just how much those words mean to me, especially coming from you.  I, uh…,” then she paused not really knowing what to say next.

 

She looked down at the half-eaten lunch in her hand, embarrassed that she was embarrassed by his words. She realized that what he’d just said might have been the first, real, direct compliment that he’d ever given her, and it had caught her off guard.  She clearly respected him. How could she not? He’d only saved her life five or six times in the last two weeks.  And she believed that, despite her advanced degrees, he was better at what he did than she would ever be at anything in her entire life.  But, she hadn’t known that he viewed her with a similar level of respect, as well.  It made her feel better than she’d felt in a long time.

 

            She looked at the witcher again. “Thank you, Geralt,” she stated simply.

 

            He nodded at her with a small smile on his face.  They looked at each other a moment longer before Evie eventually turned her attention back to the food in her hand – though, she did continue to steal glances at him between bites.

 

While Evie was finishing her lunch, Geralt heard some laughter coming from across the lake.  He shifted his gaze and noticed a dozen or more people walking out of another building, a building that looked like some sort of chapel. He watched as a young couple, smiles of happiness on their faces, exited the building and walked down its steps. Given how they were dressed and given how those around them were applauding and hugging them, the witcher assumed that they’d just been a part of some kind of wedding ceremony. He found that he couldn’t stop staring at the couple.

 

Watching the scene play out, Geralt wondered what it’d be like to truly give himself completely to a woman, to fully commit himself to another with his body, mind, and soul. He’d come awfully close with Yennefer, but there had always been something – most likely his fear and insecurity, he assumed - that had caused him to hold back just the smallest part of himself. While he had clearly been willing to die for Yennefer, he had to now admit that he hadn’t been truly willing to live for her.  And, he suddenly realized that there was a significant difference between the two. Not only that, he saw now that the former was actually easier than the latter. To die for someone only required a one-time commitment, but to actually _live_ for someone - that called for him to commit to her every single day until death finally came knocking on his door.  He realized that to truly live for someone else meant that he’d have to, in essence, die every day for the rest of his life. He’d have to die to himself – to kill that selfish part of himself – every single day in order to live selflessly for her. To put what was in Evie’s best interest above his own selfish wants.

 

The witcher suddenly gave his head a slight shake and blinked his eyes. His vision came into focus on the clear water of the lake in front of him as he realized that he’d said Evie’s name during his introspection.  He’d initially only been thinking about giving himself to a woman in general terms, and then, suddenly, her face had popped into his mind’s eye.  He didn’t turn to look at her, but as he viewed her in his peripheral vision, he considered the amazingly kind woman sitting beside him and wondered what it would be like to make that type of commitment to her.  Part of him was terrified by that thought, terrified with the prospect of truly handing his heart over to another person. Terrified of telling her, “Here is my soul. I’m entrusting you with it. Please protect it.” But, a bigger part of him was terrified _not_ to do so, to be filled with a lifetime of regret for not having tried with this woman. For, in only two weeks, she had proven repeatedly just what type of character she possessed. It dawned on him that if he couldn’t trust such a caring and sensitive woman as Evie, then there simply wasn’t anyone out there in the world who he would ever be able to trust with his heart. He realized, then, that he was on the cusp of an incredible decision, but deep down, he already knew what his choice would be. The witcher nodded his head to himself and then turned his entire body to face the woman next to him.

 

“Evie, I…need you to know something.”

 

“Okay,” she said, turning towards him and putting her meal aside.

 

“I want…I want to do this right.”

 

“Do what right?”

 

 Evie looked into Geralt’s eyes and saw something that she thought she’d never see in the witcher.  Uncertainty she had seen, and maybe even doubt, but never fear. She didn’t think it was possible for her witcher to be afraid of anything.  She reached over and tenderly placed her hand on top of his that was resting on the bench, and then she interlocked their fingers together. 

 

“Us,” he stated as he stared into her eyes.

 

Evie stopped breathing for just a moment. “Geralt…what…what are you trying to say?”

 

“Evie, I want…I want there to be an ‘us.’ I want to be with you, and…I don’t just mean in your bed.  In fact, for some strange reason, for the first time in my life, that’s not what I mean, at all.”

 

Evie didn’t know what to say.  She, suddenly, had a whirlwind of thoughts rushing through her mind.  Her heart was pounding so loudly she knew that he had to be able to hear it. She just nodded her head and squeezed his hand for a few moments. Finally, she got her mind under enough control to recall the last thing that he’d said.

 

“Butcher, are you saying that you don’t find me attractive?” she teased with a small smile on her lips.

 

“Evie, you _know_ that’s not the case.  But…I…I don’t know how to love you. I don’t know how to truly love, at all. So…I need you to teach me.”

 

Then, the smirk on her face was replaced by a look of compassion. He looked so vulnerable sitting there before her.  While Geralt may have been a highly trained and confident witcher and she could, therefore, count on his leadership in the areas of death and destruction, she realized that in the realm of love, he was a lost soul. She reached her hand upward and touched his cheek, and then she nodded her head.

 

“Okay…I will. But, I’m no expert either, Geralt.  I think we’ll both have to learn as we go.  And be patient and forgiving with each other as we learn.  But, I think that this is the right start.  You’re loving me right now,” she said with a warm smile.

 

“What? How so?” the witcher asked, confusion in his voice.

 

“You’re sharing with me. You’re being vulnerable with me.  You’re not hiding your feelings. And you’re not running away, like I ran away from Claude.  You don’t know just how much that means to me, how much that makes me trust you.  If we want to do this right, then we have to promise that we’ll always keep our guards down with each other.” 

 

The witcher stared into her eyes and slowly nodded his head. He knew she was right.  Him holding back had been what had caused so much tension and conflict in his relationship with Yennefer.  He’d never fully given himself to her, and she had known it, too.  It’s why – despite his repeated protestations – she would routinely invade his mind to read his thoughts.  The sorceress, in her own insecurity, had always wanted to know what he was hiding.  He saw, now, how the smallest seed of distrust had sprouted its roots throughout their entire relationship, tainting it all.  He vowed then not to make that same mistake with Evie.

 

“I need to tell you about Yennefer,” Geralt said to Evie.

 

“Okay,” she replied, slightly nodding her head.

 

And so he did.

 

oOo

 

            Lydial looked up from reading the Essean tome to see Geralt and Evie walking side-by-side up the hillside towards their temporary camp.  They held their horses’ reins in their outer hands while their inner hands were clasped together.  She put the book aside and stood up to greet them, but when they approached they were no longer holding hands. She decided not to say anything at the moment, but she knew that she’d have a conversation with her granddaughter soon.

 

            “Any success?” Lydial asked.

 

            “You bet!” exclaimed Evie as she pulled out an olive-green, cloth bonnet with a wide, floppy brim. 

 

            “That looks hideous. I hope that’s for you and not me,” said Barcain to Lydial with a laugh.

 

            “Ugghh,” sighed Lydial.  “I’ll never understand Nordling fashion.”

 

An hour later, the four fugitives strolled into Ban Ard under the late-afternoon sun, with Lydial and Barcain dressed in more inconspicuous clothing.  

 

“Where to next?” asked Evie.

 

“Let’s head to the square. See if we can find an inn for the night. Maybe we can strike up some conversations there,” replied the witcher. 

 

They all knew that their current goal consisted of finding a traveling party that was heading west.  One with a destination of Redania would be best, but for now, they’d settle for one on its way to Ard Carraigh. They had already stopped at a notice board in front of The Scalded Dog, a tavern with a rough-looking clientele located in the southern part of town, but it had only contained half-legible missives that were typical of notice boards all over the continent.  There were offers for broken-down tools, requests for employment, notices of upcoming weddings or funerals, and a warning from a man named Aberforth against the degenerates who were molesting his goat. Apparently, the next miscreant he caught doing so without paying him for the privilege first would meet the sharp end of his axe.  But, there were no notices asking for escorts for traveling parties.

 

oOo

 

            “So, Evangeline, how long have you been in love with the witcher?” Lydial asked.

 

            The two were alone in one of the two rooms that they’d rented for the evening.  Geralt and Barcain had stayed downstairs to take their four horses back to the inn’s stables.  They’d agreed that they’d all meet in the dining area in half an hour.

 

            “I…uh…” and then Evie sighed with a smile.  “Is it that obvious?”           

 

            The elf nodded. “It was clear the first night I saw you two together in the cave. I also saw you two holding hands this afternoon as you came back from town. But before you got to our camp, you’d let go.  If you’re trying to hide it, I want you to know that you don’t have to for my sake.”

 

            “You don’t think I’m crazy?”

 

            “Maybe…that remains to be seen,” the Aen Seidhe answered with a smile. “Tell me what you think is so special about him, and then I’ll give you my opinion of your mental state.”

 

            Evie sat down on the edge of the bed and looked at her grandmother.

 

“Nain, under all that gruff is…one of the most selfless, most vulnerable souls I’ve ever met.  I don’t know why, but for some reason he just cares for me. He didn’t just save my life in the tavern that night, but he then spent the next week _continuing_ to save my life nursing me back to health. I…I completely trust him. He’s been kind and understanding with me. He comforts me when I’m sad or scared. And he actually listens to me. He _truly_ wants to know my opinions on matters. And he told me today that he respects me - my character, my beliefs.  He makes me feel safe…and cherished. What woman wouldn’t want that?” After a pause, she continued. “And that’s just a part of it.  He is, without a doubt, the most interesting and the sexiest man that I’ve ever met.  He’s honorable, he stands up for the oppressed, he makes me laugh.  I could talk about him all night.”

 

When she finished, Lydial didn’t say anything for a moment.  A nervous look flashed across Evie’s face.

 

“So, do you think I’m crazy, to be falling for a witcher of all people?” she asked again tentatively.

 

Lydial smiled. 

 

“No. He actually sounds pretty wonderful. And the fact that you didn’t list his physical attributes first is encouraging.”

 

“Why? You don’t think physical attraction is important?”

 

“Well, it’s not _un_ important, but it’s nothing compared to a man’s character. In fact, I’ve discovered that if you truly love someone, in time, you’ll find that you’re physically attracted to them simply because you love them, even if their appearance changes.” After a pause, she continued, “So…what are his faults?”

 

 Evie shook her head and smiled at her grandmother. 

 

“I know why you’re asking, and you should know that you sound like him. He’s repeatedly said that we should use logic when making important decisions and not let our emotions cloud our judgment. So, you want to know if I have cloudy vision?”

 

“Do you?” Lydial asked with a smirk. “Because no man is perfect. If you think that he is, you’re going to be highly disappointed.  And if you _expect_ him to be, then, Evangeline, you will _crush_ him under the weight of those expectations.”

 

“I know, Nain. I know.  I still remember all of our talks.  And, yes, he does have faults.  At times, he can be a little impatient, but I think that’s just because he’s not used to dealing with people day-in and day-out.  He’s been alone almost his entire life. When he gets impatient, he can be sarcastic, which, depending upon my mood, _can_ rub me the wrong way. And once he’s made up his mind about the right course of action, there’s no changing his mind, but…to be honest, I can be a bit stubborn like that too, so…I’m not going to be too critical about that.”

 

“Anything else?”

 

“Not off the top of my head, but I’ll keep digging. Will that make you happy?” Evie asked with a laugh.

 

“Not at all,” she answered. “I like him, too, and I’m pleased for you both.”

 

“Me, too, Nain. I just…I wonder what it’ll be like once this adventure is over.  If he and I could have some kind of normal life together. I don’t even think he knows what ‘normal’ is.”

 

“Then, you’ll have to teach him.  Either that, or you two just come up with your own ‘normal’ and not worry about what anyone else thinks.”

 

 Evie reached over and hugged her grandmother. “Thanks, Nain. Now, we better get downstairs. There’s no telling what Barcain is saying about me.”

 

oOo

 

            “So, you courting my sister?” Barcain asked. He and Geralt were sitting at a table down in the tavern, waiting for Evie and Lydial to join them. They both had large mugs of beer in front of them.

 

The witcher looked at the ex-soldier for several long seconds and then nodded his head.

 

“Yeah, I’d say I am.  Is this where you perform the duty of the older brother and warn me about hurting her?”

 

“Nope,” he answered before taking a big gulp of his ale.

 

“No?”

 

Barcain shook his head. “Let me ask you a question. Do I scare you?”

 

“Not in the least.”

 

“Exactly.  Me threatening you would be as pointless as…men having nipples.  Plus, it’s not like she’s a teenager who needs looking after.  She’s a grown woman.  She can make her own decisions.  And…she told us about you saving her life multiple times in the last two weeks.  Makes you a worthy bloke in my eyes.  So, cheers, brother,” he finished with a smile and then downed his mug.  “Want another?” he asked as he stood up to head to the bar.

 

“Still working on this one,” replied Geralt.

 

After Barcain returned to the table and sat down, Geralt asked, “Mind if I ask you something?”

 

Barcain shook his head. “Go ahead.”

 

“Evie mentioned that you were in the Nilfgaardian military for two decades. What made a history professor’s kid from Vicovaro want to become a soldier for the Empire?”

 

“Has Angel told you about our Uncle Malek?”

 

Geralt nodded. “A little.”

 

“Well, it was him,” replied Barcain, before taking another long pull from his mug of ale. “I’m sure that it wasn’t the first time that I ever saw him, but the first time that I can _remember_ seeing him, I was about four years old.  He was – and still is – the biggest man that I’d ever seen.  And he was wearing his Nilfgaardian armor, with flowing black hair. He looked like a hero out of some mythical fairy tale.  Every time he came to visit, he would tell us of some new adventure, which made him seem even more like a larger-than-life character.  Though, to be honest, now, I don’t know if his stories were all true, but as a kid, I believed them all. And I can remember him wrestling with us, just having fun with us…Even though they were cousins, he was so different from our father.” He said the last in a softer voice, shaking his head.

 

“In fact, it’s a little strange, looking back on it. Whenever he came to visit, he seemed to spend more time with Mum and us kids than he did with Dad,” he said with a shrug. “As I got older, when I found out that – like me - he wasn’t a true Nilfgaardian either, well…that resonated with me. I thought, if he could find a place to fit in there, then maybe I could, too.  So, as soon as I was of age, I enlisted.”

 

Geralt nodded. “So, then, how’d you go from a career soldier to the only dh’oine in a tiny Aen Seidhe community?”

 

The mirth in his eyes suddenly evaporated.

 

“Well, you wouldn’t-” and then he stopped and shook his head. “I was about to say that you wouldn’t believe the amount of prejudice in this world…but then I remembered who I was talking to.” He took another drink and then continued. “I was doing really well, getting promoted, making a name for myself.  And all on my own merit. Never once mentioned to anyone that I was related to Uncle Malek.  But, then…somehow, word got out about my ‘pointy-eared’ heritage.”

 

He looked up at the ceiling for a bit and shook his head again. When he looked back into Geralt’s eyes, the witcher could easily see the anger burning within. 

 

“You know, Nilfgaardians are supposed to be too enlightened, too sophisticated for racism.  But, they’re no different than anyone else.  Promotions – promotions that I _deserved_ – started to pass me by.  Guys that I’d gone through hell and back with, suddenly forgot to invite me when they went out drinking. I’d finally had enough when I had to start taking orders from men ten years my junior.”

 

Barcain took another long drink, and when he looked at the witcher, the fire in his eyes seemed to have disappeared replaced again by his usual good humor.  

 

“So, I decided to chuck it all and go visit Nain.”

 

“Seems a bit strange to me,” commented the White Wolf.

 

“Yeah? Why’s that?”

 

“Just seems like an odd destination in order to avoid prejudice. Aen Seidhe aren’t known for their acceptance either.  Your sister told me they used to call her a ‘mutt.’’’

 

He nodded. “Yeah, called me that, too. So, you’re right…most elves are prejudiced.  Hell, every race thinks they’re superior to all others. But, Nain _is_ the best.  And her Essean friends were always kind and welcoming.  I did my best to avoid the rest.”

 

The witcher nodded his head. “And your grandfather? What was he like?”

 

Barcain’s countenance, again, changed immediately. His jaws tightened, and he narrowed his eyes at the witcher.

 

“That’s not my story to tell.  You’ll have to ask her.”

 

oOo

 

As the four of them chatted and ate their dinner, Evie noticed Geralt’s eyes – behind the tinted glasses - routinely darting from her face to the other patrons around the tavern.  She’d gotten used to that, though. She knew that he wasn’t ignoring her or being disrespectful. It was just his habit – a habit that had probably helped him stay alive countless times.  Whether in the woods or in public places, she had learned that he was always on alert.  She was wondering just how exhausting it’d have to be to live one’s entire life like that when she suddenly saw that something or someone had caught his attention. She was about to turn her head to gaze in the direction in which he was looking when he stopped her.

 

“Don’t turn around,” he said in a low tone.

 

Before she could ask what was going in, he got up from his chair, tossed some ducats on the table, and whispered to the others, “Don’t wait up. I think I see a stranger from my past.” He then turned to Evie, “Come with me.”

 

As he moved nonchalantly to the front doors, Evie stood and quickly walked up behind him. When they exited the inn, without even turning his head, the witcher whispered, “Let’s pretend that we’re just a young couple in love…out for an evening stroll.” He then offered his bent, left arm to her.

 

“It’ll be tough, but I’ll give it a shot,” she teased as she put her right arm through his.

 

As they strolled arm in arm through the streets of Ban Ard, she whispered, “You’re just using me to help you spy, huh? Not sure what to think about that.”

 

The witcher could clearly hear the humor in her voice and smirked. “Yeah, who knew our relationship would actually be useful?” he asked rhetorically as he lowered his hand so that he could grasp hers.

 

As they walked through the crowded square, Evie couldn’t see who they were following, but she didn’t ask.  She was just doing her best to look and act natural.  But, it wasn’t difficult.  She just did as he had recommended and pretended they were out for a romantic evening. The witcher eventually led her across the main square and down a side street, and then, he suddenly stopped. Evie felt a quick tug on her hand and turned to face her witcher. He took her in both arms and brought her close, his mouth next to her ear. To anyone watching, they were just two lovers stopping for an intimate moment.

 

            “What is it?” she asked in a whisper.

 

            “We just passed a shop. He went in there,” he answered.

 

“How do you know? I didn’t see anyone go in there.”

 

My medallion twitched,” he replied softly. “Just follow my lead, okay?”

 

            They turned, and in front of them was a small, apothecary shop located on the bottom floor of a two-story building.  A wooden door sat to the right of a clear window, which provided evidence to the merchandise within. On the other side of the window were glass jars filled with all kinds of plant leaves, flowers, stems, different parts from all species of animals, crushed spices, and other ingredients and substances about which the average Ban Ardian would be clueless.  Evie had no doubt that her witcher could identify the name and purpose of each one. Above the door was small, wooden sign indicating “Bendiak’s Beneficial Blends.”

 

            A small bell, nailed to the wall just above the door, rang as Geralt entered the dimly lit business.  There were a few lit candles around the room helping give some much-needed light. Geralt noticed that there were no other customers in the shop, but he also noticed a doorway leading to the back of the store, and he wasn’t sure who – customers or workers - might be back there. Therefore, he decided on caution.

 

            “Ah, my last customers for the day,” came a friendly voice from a back room. 

 

Then, through a doorway covered by a dark purple drape, walked a man of below-average height wearing a red fez cap and sporting a neatly groomed, salt-and-pepper beard over cherubic cheeks. His piercing, green eyes were topped with bushy eyebrows and partially obscured by candlelight reflecting off his round spectacles.  He was just finishing tying the strings of his stained apron in front of his substantial belly.   

           

            “Fortuitous timing.  I just returned from dinner. Anyhow, welcome to Bendiak’s Beneficial Blends. How can I help you?” the proprietor asked with a smile as he stood behind a counter.

 

            Evie was reminded of some of the science labs she’d seen at university.  There had to be dozens and dozens of glass jars – of varying sizes and color – all around the room.  They were on every available shelf and flat surface, and some were even on the floor. She wondered at how this man could remember where everything was located, at just what kind of filing or classification system he used. 

 

            “Greetings, Mr. Bendiak. My name is Ravix of Fourhorn, and this is my lovely bride, Angel. We’re newlyweds, here in Ban Ard on our honeymoon.”

 

            “Ah, well, congratulations, my good man. Then…perhaps…you’re here for delicate and discreet purposes?” he asked in a conspiratorial tone and with a wink. “A little help with keeping the iron in the sword?”

 

The witcher smiled.  “No, no problems with that just yet…but at least now I know where to find help if I do.  No, she and I were just discussing people that we used to know from Ban Ard. I told her that I once knew man with some really… _unique_ skills. He walked with a limp and had a missing pinky finger on his left hand.” At hearing this, the man’s eyes widened just a touch and he took the smallest step back from the counter.  “He helped with a particularly nasty wound on my thigh many years ago – a wound caused by a cockatrice. But you wouldn’t know anything about him, would you?”  As he asked the last, Geralt reached up and lowered his tinted glasses, revealing his cat eyes.

 

The store owner looked hard at Geralt for a moment.  He then slowly moved from behind his counter and walked to the front door.

 

“No sir, I wouldn’t know anything about that friend of yours. But, it does sound like a fascinating tale.  How about you and your lovely bride come back to my private quarters and we can discuss it?” he asked as he locked up the shop.

 

            A nondescript man, wearing the attire of the typical Ban Ardian, walked past the apothecary just as Mr. Bendiak flipped the sign on the door to “Closed.”  The man continued walking down the street in a casual manner until he approached a darkened alleyway several buildings down but that was still within line of sight of the shop.  As he walked past the alley, he noticed a filthy vagrant sitting next to some empty boxes. As the man’s eyes met those of the vagrant, they gave each other just the slightest of nods and, then, the man continued walking along the darkened street before disappearing around the next corner.

 

oOo

 

            Benedict Bendiak, better known as Benny to his friends, was a mage born with moderate magical power.  However, he had maximized that talent to its fullest through hard work and study at the Ban Ard Magical Academy.  His specialty was in the area of magical healing, but he dabbled in other disciplines, as well.  He and Geralt had first met many decades past when the witcher was in Ban Ard to complete a contract on a particularly vicious cockatrice that was terrorizing the area.  Benny, at that time a junior instructor at his alma mater, had waited for the witcher to leave the office of the town’s alderman – the primary contract giver on the cockatrice – and had approached the monster-slayer in the hopes of striking a deal.  The cockatrice’s feathers, stomach, venomous glands, and other parts and organs were highly valuable and useful in the area of magical healing.  However, in order to maintain their highest potency and usefulness, they needed to be harvested as soon as possible after death.  Benny’s proposal to the witcher was to accompany him in the pursuit of the cockatrice – staying completely out of the way, of course – and then performing the necessary dissection of the monster once the witcher had completed the contract. Geralt had been reluctant to agree for he simply always worked alone and figured the meek sorcerer would cause more trouble than he was worth. However, the mage had offered the monster-slayer a substantial sum of money for the inconvenience. Given that the amount actually exceeded the contract itself, Geralt, with only a little hesitation, accepted the offer. In hindsight, it had been a fortunate partnership for both.

 

            The contract for the cockatrice turned out to actually be a contract for three of the monsters – an especially large, angry mother-cockatrice and her two, young offspring.  The miners in the mountains had disturbed their nests, and the quite protective mother had understandably taken out her displeasure not only the miners’ camps up in the mountains but also the citizens of Ban Ard down on the plateau below.  The witcher had easily tracked the cockatrice to her nest, but once there, given the surprising presence of the two smaller – but still very dangerous – monsters, his original plan quickly evaporated.  Benny’s plan of non-involvement crapped the bed, as well.  They, obviously, both survived the ordeal, but Benny lost a little finger down the gullet of one of the beasts while the witcher suffered a horrendous wound on his left thigh.  Geralt, to this day, knew that he would have bled out from the bone-deep gash had the mage not been present to administer some magical healing.  Of course, the humble sorcerer – which Geralt considered to be an oxymoron - considered the two of them to be even given that the witcher had also saved his life during the cockatrices’ attacks.

 

            Introductions were made and, then, after a humorous retelling to Evie of how they had first met, Geralt asked Benny the question that had popped into his mind as soon as he’d recognized the mage having dinner back in the tavern.

 

            “What gives? I almost didn’t recognize you.  New beard, new hairstyle, new glasses, new clothes – looks like I’m not the only one incognito.”

 

            “Yeah…so, what gave me away?”

 

            “The limp and the finger.”

 

            The mage nodded.  “Well, yes, I have changed my appearance a bit, but I’ll be honest, I’m not sure why.  The people I’m hiding from didn’t even know what I looked like before.”

 

            “Let me guess – witch hunters and Eternal Fire guards?”

 

            Benny nodded again.

 

            It turned out that Geralt had been correct earlier in the day regarding his assumption about the Magical Academy.  Six months prior, guards of the temple of the Eternal Fire, accompanied by a vast number of witch hunters and a large company of Redania’s finest soldiers had entered Ban Ard and immediately headed toward the magical school north of town. The sorcerers were able to keep the front gates barred long enough for most of the faculty and students to escape through emergency exits.  But, not all were so lucky.

 

            “Why stay here? Aedirn is just a few days’ ride south. You’d be out of Radovid’s reach there.”

 

            “Radovid can go bugger himself.  Ban Ard’s been my home for nearly a century. I’m not about to let him drive me away.  Anyway, we may be under his rule now, but it’s only temporary.  It won’t last.”

 

            “So, until then, you’re just Benedict – the man to see to remedy a sore throat or a bland stew?”

 

            “Please.  I do just as much magic now as I did when the Academy was still open. My disguise is the worst-kept secret in Ban Ard.”

 

            “Come again?”

 

            “I’m just about the only mage left in town.  My skills – especially my healing skills – are in high demand.”

 

            “And you’re not afraid of one of your neighbors turning you in for a reward.”

 

            The mage shook his head. “My fellow Ban Ardians may be under Redania’s rule, but they’re _not_ Redanians and certainly not followers of the Eternal Fire.  They don’t have such a negative view of magic. They’ve always appreciated the presence of the Academy.  It’s always brought a lot of prestige and, maybe more importantly, a lot of commerce to the community.”  Then his face turned grave. “Plus, if there wasn’t already hostility towards the Redanians before they came to town, then seeing those whoresons burn some of the young adepts at the stake in the middle of the square certainly did it.  No Ban Ardian would help those sons-of-bitches now.  And if anyone turned me in, they wouldn’t live to see the next day.”

 

            “I hope you’re right,” the witcher commented.

 

            “As am I.  But, enough about me. I see I’m not the only one in disguise.”

 

The witcher nodded. “No offense, Benny, but…it’s safer for everyone if you don’t know the reason.” 

 

            The mage raised his hands in mock-surrender. 

 

“Hey, just the way I like it.  If I don’t know anything, then, if I’m ever asked, I don’t have to lie about it.  The older I get the more I’m starting to prefer honesty…my memory is just getting too shoddy.  It’s getting too damn hard to remember which specific lies I told to which specific people.  It’s easier to just tell the truth. That said, is there anything I can do for you, though?”  

 

“Well, we’re trying to travel unrecognized, but…there’s not much I can do about my eyes and this scar, but I know that Yennefer used to concoct some kind of ointment that would – I don’t know – conceal imperfections or make her eyes sparkle. Something like that.  Can you do anything along those lines?” the witcher asked.

 

The mage peered at the witcher’s face closely and hummed slightly to himself.

 

“Let’s head to my lab, shall we?”

 

oOo

 

            “Be careful of the those,” Benny said, pointing at two potted plants to his right. “They’re just playing with each other, but they’ll take a chunk out of you if you get too close.”

 

            Evie was wide-eyed as she looked around the mage’s lab.  Off to her right, were two potted plants that looked and acted more like animals than anything out of the plant kingdom.  They were two feet tall and each one had a very large snake-shaped head at the top of its stalk – a head containing no visible eyes or nose but a very visible mouth filled with tiny, sharp-looking teeth.  They also had long, thick leaves midway up their stems, and they were slapping each other with them, much like a man would use his arms to defend himself. The two plants also appeared to be nipping at one another – like playful puppies – with their dangerous looking maws.

 

            But the two plants weren’t even the biggest oddities in the room – at least in Evie’s eyes.  On one table was some scientific-looking contraption with all sorts of tubes and glass beakers, which wasn’t strange in and of itself.  What was unusual was that drops of some type of viscous liquid resting in a beaker on the table seemed to be defying gravity and dripping upwards into a beaker positioned above it. On a shelf to the left were a couple of glass or crystal orbs filled with colored, swirling gases.  In an enormous aquarium on a back table were eight to ten brightly-colored fish that seemed to miraculously disappear before reappearing again several seconds later in a different area of the aquarium.  Evie was eventually broken from her mesmerized state by Benny’s voice.

 

            “Just put a little bit on your finger tip and then rub it on your scar.”

 

            Evie looked over to see Geralt looking into a small mirror. He had a small, metal canister in his left hand and was rubbing something onto his scar with the index finger of his right.  After a few moments, she saw Geralt start to nod his head.

 

            “Not bad, Benny.  I’ll take it.  How long will this last?”

 

            “Probably only three to four hours.”

 

            “Alright.  I’ll just have to buy several of these,” responded the witcher as he lifted the small canister in his hand.

 

            Benny shook his head. “That’s my last, and I unfortunately don’t have one of the ingredients needed to make more.”

 

            “Okay. Do you know where we can get this ingredient?”

 

            Benny had a smirk on his face as he nodded. “Oh, yes, I do…but it’s a little inaccessible at the moment.  Some of my supplies I had to leave at the Academy when the Redanians showed up.”

 

Geralt just shrugged his shoulders. “Not a problem. Let’s just sneak in there and get what you need.”

 

            “That could prove troublesome.”

 

            “Why? Redanians guarding the gates? Trust me, they’ll never know I’m there.”

 

            Benny shook his head.  “No. The Redanians aren’t the issue. The problem is that there seems to be some unknown monster now inhabiting the Academy grounds.”

 

            The witcher shook his head.

 

“Of course, there is,” he growled.   

 


	2. Chapter 2

            “What do you know about this monster, Benny?” asked the witcher.

 

            “Not much.  There’s only rumors.  The alderman has done his best to keep a lid on it. Thinks it would hurt the city’s tourism business if it got out.  Personally, I don’t think it’d affect it one way or another.  I mean, every city has monsters, right?  And depending upon the type of monster it could actually _increase_ tourism. Some folks get their jollies from being frightened.”

 

            “If it’s just a rumor, how do you even know about it then?” Evie asked.

 

            “Well…the alderman isn’t exactly faithful to his wife, and he’s contracted a few… unhealthy reminders from those escapades.  Diseases that - if his wife discovered – would be pretty clear evidence of his infidelity.  So, he’s called upon my healing services a few times, and the man loves the sound of his own voice.  Seems he’s as poor at keeping secrets as he is at keeping his dick in his pants. I don’t know…maybe he told me because he thought that since I used to work there, I’d have more insight as to what the monster might be.  But, truthfully, I don’t.”

 

            “Unfaithful to his wife, lying to the public about things that would probably be in their best interest to know.  Sounds like Ban Ard’s got themselves a real politician. Congratulations,” the witcher commented, shaking his head.

 

            “Wait…it gets better. It was the venerable Alderman Thacker’s idea that got people killed in the first place. A couple of month’s back, seeing that the Magical Academy was locked up and serving no one any good, he convinced the town council to confiscate it using some highly dubious town ordinances.”

 

            “Why do you say they were dubious?” asked Evie.

 

            Benny smiled. “Because the Academy doesn’t even reside within the town’s limits.  They have absolutely no jurisdiction over it.  But, given that witch hunters were still in the area, he knew none of us mages would openly object, right?  Then, once the Academy was considered city property, he decided to rent it out to the highest bidder. 

 

            “The damn fool.  I worked there, and I don’t even know what all kinds of dangerous, magical secrets are still hidden behind those walls. Some of my former colleagues used to conduct some highly questionable experiments.  And Thacker just decided to open it up to the public.” The mage was now just shaking his head.

 

            “So, you’re telling me that the Redanians just let him open up the Academy again.  Weren’t they the ones to lock it up?” Geralt asked.

 

            “Oh, he had to get permission.  The entire Ban Ard division is at the war front, but a company of Redanian soldiers – along with the temple guards and the witch hunters – now stays in their empty garrison. The Redanian company commander – named Yurimir – still allows Thacker and the town council to run the day-to-day affairs of the city, but he reviews all new ordinances. All the major business of the city goes across his desk.  So, I wouldn’t be surprised if he’s getting some kind of kickback from the Academy’s rental income.”

 

            “Seems likely,” commented the witcher, nodding his head.

 

            “Yeah…so, Thacker opens up bidding on the property, and you _wouldn’t_ believe it, but Madame Spraven – owner of one of the town’s brothels - comes out on top.”

 

            “Nice turn of phrase there, Benny.  And let me guess, Madame Spraven and Thacker know each other well.”

 

            Benny nodded. “Intimately. So, about a month ago, the Madame and her girls go into the Academy, start cleaning up some of the living quarters to make them welcoming.  A few nights later the first customers arrive. Then, the next thing we hear is that the Academy is locked up again.  No explanation.”

 

            “And the rumors?”

 

            Benny shrugged. “You know how it goes.  The attack was at night so it was too dark to see. Plus, it happened so fast that no one – at least no one living – can say for sure what it was.”

 

            “So, there were survivors?”

 

            “From what I hear, one of the working girls, but Thacker has her hidden away somewhere so she can’t tell anyone what she saw – all for the town’s good, of course. Though, she did talk to some of her friends before Thacker could sequester her. That’s the main way the rumors got out.”

 

            “And no one’s gone back in? No one went in to investigate? The dead’s family don’t care?”

 

            Benny nodded his head. “I heard that Thacker sent in a few of his men. When they didn’t return, he locked the gates. Posted a sign stating no entry allowed. He’s just going to pretend it never happened.  Like I said, he thinks it’d make the town – and especially him – look bad if word got out. Though, I’ll be honest, by now, most Ban Ardians know. There’s just an unspoken rule to keep it to ourselves – certainly not let the tourists know.  I think he’s just hoping that…it will just go away on its own.”

 

            The monster-slayer shook his head. “Yeah, because that always happens. Problems always just disappear on their own.”

 

            “So, still interested in my concealing ointment? All you have to do is defeat some unknown monster in the Academy? Maybe you’ll even earn a special medal of commendation from the honorable Alderman Thacker,” Benny said with a smirk.

 

            “Think I’ll pass. Got enough medals already. Guess I’ll just keep wearing my hood up.”

 

            Then, Benny’s face turned serious. “In that case, Geralt, I advise that you and your friends get out of town – as soon as possible.  On the surface, it may look the same, but Ban Ard is different now – ever since our soldiers left. The old garrison commander was the real leader of the town. A bit of a hard-ass, law-and-order type, but…at least he kept this town – and Thacker - in line. But, with him and his soldiers gone…Thacker now runs this place more or less however he sees fit.  And he’s not a good man.”

 

oOo

 

            “Why no interest in the monster at the Academy?” Evie asked in a whisper as they walked through the darkened streets of Ban Ard.

 

She and Geralt had spent another hour in the mage’s underground lab catching up on both old times and current events before they decided to head back to the inn where they were staying for the night.

 

            “In different circumstances, maybe I would, but we have other priorities. Let Thacker clean up his own mess,” Geralt responded as he kept his eyes moving constantly about him. 

 

Benny’s warnings had Geralt on edge.  He’d come across men like Thacker countless times in his life – men who in reality were no different, and perhaps even worse, than the common bandits that he’d killed in The Mariposa tavern two weeks ago.  The only real difference was that, because of their position and status, they were viewed as being on the “right” side of the law, which made them even more dangerous since they were insulated and protected from any type of repercussions. Who could the citizens go to when they were being oppressed if it was their very own leaders, judges, and constables that were guilty of the oppression?  Nothing made the witcher’s blood boil more than when those who were in positions of leadership perverted and abused that authority, whether it was parents, teachers, clergy, or civil servants. Thacker was just another in a long line of corrupt officials that proved that the world was without justice. It’s why the witcher had rarely felt any hesitancy about taking justice into his own hands. If he didn’t right the wrongs that he saw, then who would?

 

And, as if Thacker wasn’t bad enough, there was the additional presence of the witch hunters and the temple guards to deal with. The witcher had interacted with enough of them to know that Evie had been correct earlier in the day when she’d called them fanatics.  Geralt knew that most people – and not just religious fanatics - were convinced that their beliefs about everything were right, and they’d be damned if they’d listen to anyone tell them that they were wrong about their religion, their politics, or their cultural views.  The majority of folks simply refused to listen to anyone who even remotely espoused a differing opinion. In his time, he’d seen very few actual civil, respectful debates or discussions between opposing sides on, well, any matter.  Most just did their best to shout their opponents down, not even giving them a chance to be heard.  As opposed to taking issue with their opponent’s argument, they’d simply name-call and ridicule because that was a whole lot easier - and lazier - to do. Dissecting an argument actually required a person to, first, listen to the other’s point of view, and then use reason, logic, and facts to refute their faulty premises. And who had the time, the energy, or the ability for that?

 

But, in spite of their hateful name-calling and their assaults on the opponents’ character, very few would actually kill over a difference in beliefs, unlike the militant branch of the Eternal Fire. Though, now that he thought about it, the witcher concluded that the lack of murder during heated, irrational arguments by the common man wasn’t because of any level-headed sense of tolerance or desire for understanding or even because of a moral realization that murder was wrong.  It was, most likely, simply a matter of fear.  If people didn’t kill those they hated, it was simply because they didn’t want to pay the consequences if they got caught.  But, the witcher knew what was in the hearts of men.  Hell, just his simple existence had caused him to be on the receiving end of endless vitriolic diatribes throughout his life – and not just from religious zealots, but from children, little old ladies, and upstanding, sophisticated professionals of society.  And during those moments, he could easily detect the murderous, black rage in their eyes.  Given that he had that same rage in himself, it was quite easy to recognize in others.  And he knew that, if they thought they could get away with it, they’d end his life in a heartbeat.  Hell, he had the scars from a pitch-fork to prove it. Then, afterward, they’d simply rationalize that he’d obviously deserved it and it was clearly all of his fault in the first place, and then they’d go on their merry way. 

 

Thinking on the issue more, he was surprised that there wasn’t actually more murder in the world because he knew that it was just a tiny nudge from having murder in your heart to having murder on your hands. The witcher shook his head slightly as he came out of his thoughts.  Speaking with Benny about the goings-on in Ban Ard had obviously put him in a dark frame of mind. Perhaps the mage was right - they needed to leave town as soon as possible.

 

Geralt and Evie eventually made their way through the square without incident, through the first-floor dining area and bar of the tavern, and, then, up the stairs to their rooms.

 

As they stood in front of the door to one of their two rooms, Geralt looked at Evie and said, “Well, this is a little awkward.  Are you and I sharing a room together or…?  We didn’t discuss it earlier.”

 

 Evie smiled.  “Well, Nain and I discussed it.  And yes, you and I are sharing a room.  I’ve slept by your side for the last two weeks, and I happen to like it there.” And then she grasped his hand.

 

The witcher looked into her eyes and nodded his head.  “Yeah. I’ve gotten used to it, too.  Before we go in, let’s see if they’re awake.  I want to tell them that it’s going to be an early morning.  I’ve got a bad feeling about being here.”

 

After getting a nod of confirmation from Evie, they both walked into Lydial and Barcain’s room.  Geralt’s senses were immediately assaulted with deep snoring sounds and the stench of beer-tinged burps. Lydial was sitting in a chair with a candle flickering on a table next to her.  She, unsurprisingly, had the Essean tome in her lap.  Barcain, on the other hand, was sprawled spread-eagle out on the bed.

 

“What the hell? Is he drunk?” Geralt asked.

 

Lydial nodded.  “Yes. I don’t know what got into him.”

 

“Obviously, a half a barrel of ale,” answered Evie. 

 

“Well, he’s going to be hurting tomorrow.  We’re leaving before sun-up, okay?” stated the witcher.

 

“What’s wrong? Where have you been?” the elf asked.

 

Evie gave Lydial a short recount of their evening, ending with Benny’s warning to be on the road as quickly as possible.

 

“Do we need to be worried? I mean, should we leave now?” Lydial asked.

 

The witcher nodded his head towards Barcain. “It doesn’t look like we could even if we wanted…but, no, I think we should be fine for tonight.  We haven’t been in town more than nine or ten hours and nobody has noticed us – noticed me,” Geralt answered. “But, I am very glad now that I changed my appearance.”

 

He, then, looked over at Evie and then back at Lydial before asking with a smile, “Do we have time for a bed-time story?”

 

Lydial grinned back. “Of course.”

 

That had become the running joke in the last four days since their hasty escape from the Aen Seidhe palace in Dol Blathanna. That first night, as they were sitting around a campfire, getting ready to sleep – or meditate in the witcher’s case - Geralt had asked Lydial to read him something out of the elven tome. The second night, he’d done the same.  On the third night, when the witcher had asked her to read something from the book, she had looked at him inquisitively and had asked him, “Why are you so interested, Geralt?”

 

He had shrugged and simply answered, “Not sure. I guess I’m just curious. I don’t know anything about Essea or your religion.”

 

Lydial had smiled.

 

“What’s the smile about?” he had asked.

 

“Oh, it’s nothing,” she had replied. “I’m just pleased that you’re interested.”

 

oOo

 

_City of Hengfors_

In a secret, underground arena owned by one of the city’s most prolific crime bosses, a large crowd alternatively cheered and groaned as they watched the two combatants draw blood, one much more often than the other. Much more groaning than cheering could be heard in the arena, however, for the fighter who was the crowd favorite – the Mule of Malleore - had copious amounts of blood pouring down his face and onto his bare chest.  He’d been the favorite for he stood at least a foot taller than his opponent and outweighed him by easily a hundred pounds.  Almost everyone had placed money on the Mule dispatching his opponent within minutes. But, the smaller fighter had too much speed for the giant of a man, and he’d been peppering his face and ribs with rock-hard punches for the last ten minutes.  And, unfortunately for the Mule, the small man didn’t look to be tiring out.

 

The Ghost sat in a private box above the crowd and watched the fight with a small, amused smile creasing his face. It was a smile that he wore often, which also typically irritated those who saw it.  It was a smile that said, “I know something that you don’t.” And his smile grew in proportion with the crowd’s groans. He’d put a large sum of money on the smaller man, and at the moment, he was trying to calculate – based on the favorable odds that he’d been given – what his overall winnings would amount to.  His small smile faltered a bit when he realized he couldn’t figure out in his head what the exact total would be – math had never been his strong suit – but his smile quickly returned for he knew it was a lot. But, then suddenly, he saw the smaller man slip in a pool of blood on the floor of the arena. He fell down to one knee, and before he could get to his feet, the Mule was on top of him. And then the fight was over. Now, firmly in the Mule’s grasp, the smaller man stood no chance.

 

Moments later, as the crowd cheered, the Ghost stood up disgusted and headed for the arena’s exit. He shook his head, reminding himself that he’d never been lucky – in either money or love - and questioned why he continued to keep betting on either despite decades’ worth of evidence that he should seek out other pursuits. So lost in his thoughts was the Ghost that he didn’t notice the hooded-figure follow him out of the arena.

 

The Ghost was one of Hengfor’s minor crime lords, but, deep down, he believed that he should’ve ruled the city’s underworld. Decades ago, he’d started off as an assassin for hire, and he’d been the best.  What no one knew – and still didn’t know – was that the secret to his success was his magical skills.  He wasn’t particularly knowledgeable in many areas of the arcane for he’d been kicked out of the Ban Ard Academy before his education had progressed too far. Though, he had, like most elite magic users, learned the spells and elixirs necessary to slow down the aging process. However, there was one area of magic in which he’d been a natural - the art of casting illusions, which allowed him to blend in completely with the environment. That skill had been invaluable as an assassin.

 

He’d eventually earned enough money to cut out his own little territory in Hengfor’s crime world, complete with his own stable of hoodlums and underlings; and both his skills and reputation as an assassin had allowed him to keep that territory for decades. But, he’d never been able to expand his little empire for, frankly, he had no head for business.  Though, he more often than not simply blamed his business failings on his accursed bad luck. That was easier than actually taking the blame on himself.

 

He was halfway home when he picked up the click-clack sound of heals striking the brick streets behind him. When he turned, the sounds of the footsteps stopped.  He peered into the darkness but couldn’t see anyone or anything in the alleyway full of shadows.  He reached up and pulled a knife with a twelve-inch blade from the scabbard on his hip. He turned and continued walking down the street, and when he came to the next corner, he turned to the right, stepped into a nearby shadow, and cast a concealment spell around him. And then he waited patiently for his pursuer.

 

“Are we playing hide-and-go-seek, Oran?” came a haughty and familiar voice from behind him.

 

The Ghost quickly turned, his knife at the ready. Ten feet away, he could just make out the owner of the voice in the shadows.  Then, the small figure stepped out into the moonlight and lowered the hood from her head.

 

The Ghost stood there not saying a word, just glaring at the most-wanted witch in Redania.

 

“Bugger me,” he finally cursed.

 

“Now, Oran, is that any way to greet your little sister?” asked Philippa Eilhart.

 

oOo

 

            Geralt shut and locked the door behind him and then turned around to look at Evie.  She had lit a candle on the bed-side table and now stood in the center of their rented room facing him, nervously biting her lower lip, with one hand grasping the other in front of her.

 

            “Alone at last,” the witcher remarked while staring into her eyes.   

 

Evie inhaled deeply and nodded her head as she exhaled slowly, but the White Wolf didn’t say or do anything else other than reach up and rub his chin twice before dropping his hand back down to his side. She was looking back at Geralt, but for the life of her, she could not read what was going on behind those eyes.  In just two weeks, she’d been able to learn some of his subtle and not-so-subtle emotional tells – anger, fear, mirth, and passion, but in that moment, his face was completely stoic, and it was unsettling for her.  She wished that he’d say something because she had no idea what was about to happen. Then, she watched him as he slowly took three steps forward in her direction until he was standing in front of her looking down into her face. He moved both hands forward and grasped both of hers in his. Without saying a word, he moved her over to the bed, and with just the slightest nod of his head and shifting of his eyes, she knew that he wanted her to have a seat. Then, to her surprise, he let go of her hands and turned away from her.  He grabbed a nearby chair and pulled it up close to the bed and sat down, looking slightly upward into her face.

 

            “So…” he stated.

 

            “Yeah…so,” she replied.

 

            Geralt exhaled deeply and then continued. “You said that we should be honest and open with each other. You said that’s how relationships are supposed to work, right?”

 

            “Right,” she responded, nodding her head tentatively.  She still had absolutely no idea what he was about to tell her.

 

            The witcher nodded his head. “Okay, here goes.” And then he took a deep breath. “This may come off as completely arrogant and very presumptuous on my part, but…I want to wait before we have sex.”

 

            Immediately, Evie exhaled and let loose with a nervous laugh.

 

            The witcher had a confused look on his face. “Is it that funny?”

 

            “No.  I was just…expecting the worst.  I thought you were going to tell me that you had some kind of mutated…dragon penis or…that you had three of them. Something strange.”

 

            “You are weird - do you know that?” the witcher said with a smirk.

 

            “Give me a break. I’ve never dated a witcher before. I don’t know what kind of… _equipment_ you have down there.”

 

            He smiled at that. “Fair enough. And it’s…standard equipment, by the way.” After a pause, he asked, “So…what do you think about what I said?”

 

            Evie looked nervous again. “Why do you want to wait?”

 

            Geralt shook his head. “I don’t know exactly.  But, I _think_ it’s God…again.  I just know that I sense something inside, telling me that we should. I’ll be honest, I don’t really want to. My entire being wants to tear your clothes off right now,” he said with a smile. “But...I think _he’s_ telling me, ‘Wait.’ To wait until we are – I don’t know – I don’t know why he’d want us to wait.”

 

After a pause in which he grasped Evie’s hands again, the witcher continued.

 

“But, I’m starting to see now that he’s been leading me for the last couple of weeks – maybe even longer, and I _want_ to listen to him.  My entire life, ‘bed’ has been easy for me, and it’s been the norm. But, obviously, none of my relationships have ever lasted. Now, I’m in no way saying that the reason the relationships didn’t work was because of sex, but…I think he’s showing me that if my normal, base instincts with regards to sex and relationships have repeatedly led me to make poor decisions that have _never_ worked out, then… maybe I should do the opposite.” He paused momentarily before continuing. “And I _do_ want this to work with you. So much so that I’m willing to try it his way.”

 

            The witcher lowered and shook his head and laughed in exasperation before, then, looking back into Evie’s eyes. 

 

“If I’m honest…I’m _very_ confused right now.  I don’t know what to think or do. I’ve got a serious battle going on inside of me.”

 

            Evie squeezed his hands. “It’s simple, then.  We wait.  This is _not_ what I expected at all,” she stated with a small, exasperated laugh of her own. “…but I would never want to hurt you in any way, to cause you to go against what your conscience or what God is telling you to do.”

 

            “You’re not disappointed?”

 

            Evie smiled. “In one way, yes.  Like yours, my body is screaming out for you, but…waiting will just make it all the sweeter.  Plus, I’ve seen first-hand the potential, negative consequences of rushing into things with someone you don’t love. I don’t want to ruin anything with you either.  And now that you’ve mentioned it, waiting seems like the right thing to me, too.”

 

            “Really?”

 

            Evie nodded. 

 

“Maybe he’s starting to speak to both of us,” she said with a smile.  

 

oOo

 

            Evie woke suddenly with a hand over her mouth.

 

            “Get up, _now_ ,” Geralt whispered urgently into her ear.

 

            She came alert quickly and looked around the darkened room, wondering what time it was. She could no longer hear any noises coming from the first-floor bar so she figured that she’d been asleep at least two or three hours. As her eyes adjusted to the darkness, she could make out the witcher unsheathing his sword and facing the door of their room, which immediately made her jump from the bed and shuffle across the room to where her crossbow was located.

 

She came up behind him and whispered, “What is it?”

 

“Something’s going on next door.”

 

The White Wolf paused at the door to his room and listened intently before opening it quickly and leaping into the hallway.  But, there was no one waiting to attack.  There was no one there at all.  He and Evie, then, moved to Lydial’s room, the door of which was slightly ajar.  He clearly remembered that he’d shut it behind him when he’d left earlier in the evening.  Just as he was about to open the door, the witcher heard footsteps coming from his right. He looked to see four men coming up the lone staircase. All four were heavily armed, with weapons drawn.  However, upon seeing the witcher, they stopped where they were, neither advancing nor retreating – just glaring in his direction.  Before he could even decide what to do about those four, his attention was drawn back to Lydial and Barcain’s room by muffled sounds coming from within. He reached up slowly with his sword and used the tip of it to, in-by-inch, push it open toward the interior of the room. As the scene behind the door came into view, he heard Evie breathe in quickly behind him.  Both Barcain and Lydial were being held captive by at least ten men with knives, swords, and crossbows.

 

Geralt’s eyes then shifted to a rather handsome man sitting calmly in a chair in the middle of the room facing the witcher. The elegantly-dressed man seemed to be casually inspecting his fingernails, but upon hearing the door open, he looked up, smiled and said, “Please, do join us, Witcher.”

 


	3. Chapter 3

            It was well past midnight when the White Wolf strode purposefully out of the Ban Ard inn. He looked up briefly to see thousands of twinkling stars blanketing the night sky and then continued walking through the mostly empty, main square of town. All the while, the conversation with the alderman of Ban Ard was replaying in his mind.

 

            _“I know who you are so let me introduce myself._ _I am Willet Thacker._ _Welcome to my city. And make no mistake…it is my city. Nothing escapes my notice.”_

_“Is that right?”_

_“Obviously. I knew of your presence within an hour of you arriving here, and, then…you really grabbed my attention when you decided to visit our fair burgh’s only mage.  How delightfully surprised I was to discover that you’re a witcher.”_

_Thacker then shook his head.  “Poor, pitiful Benny. Tried to play the hero, but he eventually told us everything. All men eventually cave, Witcher.  You just have to find the right spot to press.”_

_Then, the alderman smiled. “I wonder – will you play the hero, too?” His eyes then moved over to Evie. “I have no doubt that I can find your weak spot.”_

_The Butcher of Blaviken took in the situation with a critical eye.  He deliberately peered into the eyes of each man in that small room. He knew that he could kill all of them but probably not without Lydial, Barcain, or both also losing their lives in the process. Thus, Thacker and his men’s demise would have to wait, but the monster-slayer was carefully burning their faces into his memory. Finally, his eyes rested back on those of the alderman._

_“What exactly can I do for you, Alderman Thacker?” asked the witcher with absolutely no emotion in his voice._

_The smile grew wider on Thacker’s face._

_“Ahh. It pleases me that you’re a sensible witcher. I knew I was taking a bit of risk…I mean, one never can be sure with your kind, heh? But, I wouldn’t be where I am today without taking some calculated risks.”_

_When Geralt didn’t respond, his smile faltered slightly, but he continued._

_“What I want is simple. Bring me the head of the monster in the Academy, and then, I’ll let your friends go. Until then, I’ll provide them with very comfortable accommodations.”_

_Lydial stood behind the alderman with her arms tied behind her, a knife at her throat and another at her back.  She noticed that the room was eerily silent. She looked first at Evie and clearly saw fear on her face, her granddaughter’s eyes darting everywhere within the small, confined space. Then, she looked at Geralt. She couldn’t read any emotion in his eyes, but they were staring straight ahead, boring into those of Thacker for several long moments.  Finally, the Butcher of Blaviken spoke in a low voice._

_“Do you promise?”_

_“Pardon?” the alderman asked, shaking his head slightly._

_“Do…you…promise…to let them go…unharmed? the witcher asked slowly._

_Thacker paused for a moment._

_“Yes. You have my word,” he finally replied, the small smile, once again, returning to his face._

_The White Wolf nodded his head ever so slightly._

_“Then, cross your heart…and hope to die.”_

_The alderman looked into the witcher’s eyes, and then the smile on his face slowly and completely faded away._

oOo

 

            “Damn it, Benny. I hope you look worse than you feel,” the witcher stated as he knelt down next to the portly mage, who was still tied to a chair. 

 

Both he and the chair were tipped over onto their sides, his right temple resting upon the floor of the apothecary’s back room.  After sensing no one else in the store, the witcher sheathed his sword and then gently pulled Benny and the chair into an upright position. He cut the ropes around the mage’s ankles and wrists and then pulled a stoppered vial from a small pouch on his bandolier.   

 

            “Here, drink this. It’ll help with the pain and swelling,” he said, handing the elixir to the battered sorcerer.   

 

In the last two weeks, since beginning his adventure with Evie, the witcher had found himself carrying a health potion for her at all times. He was very grateful at the moment for that newly-formed habit.

 

            As Benny’s shaky hand tipped the end of the metal vial upward to swallow down the potion contents, Geralt quickly looked the mage over.  He had a swollen left eye and dried blood covering his nose, mouth and beard.  As the witcher’s eyes scanned lower, he noticed the sorcerer’s bare right foot, and he hissed through his teeth.

 

            “Son of a bitch. What the hell did they do to you? Your foot looks like ground chuck.”

 

            “Hammer,” stated the mage matter-of-factly through swollen and busted lips.

 

            “Damn it…I’m sorry, Benny. This is my fault.  I should have known better than to come into town at all.  Hood down and I’m too recognizable; hood up and I look suspicious.”

 

              Benny slowly shook his head. “No, Geralt. I’m the one to blame.  This isn’t your town, and you didn’t know what Thacker was capable of.  I totally underestimated him. He came in here with diarrhea of the mouth, making me think he was either a fool or that he simply trusted me.  I see now it was just to get my guard down.  Hell, I wouldn’t be surprised if the damn snake lied about getting the clap those times just so he could get close to me.”

 

            “You saying that you didn’t check that he actually had it?”

 

            “Hell, no. I didn’t want to see his bits. I mean, who would lie about something like that?”

 

            “Thacker,” Geralt stated simply.

 

            “Yeah…right. He would,” he answered, nodding his head slightly.

 

            “Well, regardless, your face is still my fault. If I hadn’t come to your shop…” he said, shaking his head. “Hell, I should’ve stayed in the mountains. I brought this on _all_ of us with my stupidity,” argued the witcher.

 

            Benny raised his hand up to his face and gently moved his nose back and forth to assess the damage. He then lowered his hand and looked at Geralt.

 

“You know what - you’re right.  It _is_ your fault,” he said jokingly through a bloody, hideous-looking smile.  

           

            The witcher looked him squarely in the eye and nodded slightly.  “Well, I’m gonna fix it.”

 

            “We both will,” replied Benny.

 

oOo

 

            The White Wolf watched his friend struggle to get out of the saddle.

 

“Stay on your horse, Benny…allow me,” stated Geralt as he dismounted Roach.

 

            The witcher, in the early-morning darkness, walked up to a large boulder embedded into the side of the mountain, reached into his pocket, and then began moving his hand back and forth in front him. Suddenly, the boulder vanished to reveal a large, pitch-black passageway. Geralt re-mounted Roach and noticed the look of surprise on Benny’s face. The mage peered at the tunnel and then back at the witcher.

 

He finally asked with a touch of suspicion in his voice, “Since when do witchers have enough magical training to dispel illusions? Have you been taking lessons?”

 

“Nope,” answered the witcher, and then he coaxed Roach forward into the darkness.

 

After they entered the passageway, the illusion re-appeared behind them, and Benny lit a torch. At that point, the witcher turned slightly in the saddle and faced his friend.

 

“I’ve got a cheater,” he answered as he showed Benny what he had in his hand.

 

 “An eye of Nehaleni?  Where did you get that? They are incredibly rare.”

 

This time there was a lot more than just a tinge of surprise in the mage’s voice.

 

“Really?” Geralt asked with furrowed brows.  “A sorceress friend gave it to me. She said that they were a piece of cake to craft so she just gave me hers.”

 

“Well, she lied…because they’re not. She must’ve wanted something from you pretty badly to give you that.”

 

The witcher nodded slightly. “There’s no doubt about that.  But…could it also _possibly_ be that Aretuza was simply the better magical school than your academy?  That they taught their girls better than you taught the boys?”  

 

Benny glared at the witcher. “I know that you’re under a lot of stress right now, and it’s clearly affecting your judgment. So, I’ll forgive you for that remark.”

 

Normally, all of this back and forth with his friend would have brought a smirk to the witcher’s face, but at the moment, he was too focused on the task at hand – but also too consumed with both anger and worry - for any mirth to invade his mood.  In his century of living, he’d already learned the simple but, yet, deep relationship between one’s desires and one’s worries, and that evening’s events had only strongly reinforced that lesson.  Since leaving the inn, his mind had recognized once again just how much his fears were intimately tied to what he valued the most. The last time that he’d experienced such profound fear had been last summer when he had been trying to save Ciri.  And, as he looked back now, he saw that, after her death, while he may have been full of a whole host of emotions, fear definitely wasn’t one of them. And all because, during that time, he had simply valued nothing, not even his life.  He realized that when a man didn’t care about anything, then he didn’t care if he lost anything, either.  But once a man’s heart started to cherish something – or someone - then inevitably anxiety would quickly start to creep in, too. If, what he cherished wasn’t yet in his possession, then the fear would begin to whisper into his psyche, “You’ll never, ever get it. You’ll never hold on to what will make you happy. You must strive harder.” But, Geralt knew that perhaps even more debilitating was what fear could do to the man who actually, eventually, did grasp ahold of what he cherished the most.  The sinister voice would continually swirl in the mind, “You’ll never keep it. You’re going to lose it. You’d better hold on tighter.”  But, either way, that fear destroyed a man’s peace of mind.

 

The truly ironic aspect of fear was that it, many times, was responsible for bringing about the very outcome the person was trying to avoid in the first place. He’d seen it countless times throughout his life. He’d, of course, seen it in battle – men trying to save their own skin would make incredibly dumb decisions ultimately leading to their deaths - but he’d also seen it in the more mundane areas of life.  He’d seen parents who were so afraid of allowing their children to experience the trials and disappointments of the world that they’d keep their kids on the tightest of leashes. Of course, then, when the teenagers eventually left the home and took the punch-to-the face that life would inevitably deliver, they didn’t possess the necessary skills to deal with it adequately as an adult because their parents had robbed them of the opportunity of learning how face failure and heartache when they were younger.  The parents’ fear actually made things worse for their children in the long term. And it was that same insidious voice of fear that had begun to whisper again in the witcher’s heart and mind in the last week, ever since he’d first started having feelings for the barmaid-historian from Vicovaro. A voice that sounded like a shout whenever he thought of Evie.

 

Geralt knew that worry, in and of itself, wasn’t an entirely negative emotion. One positive aspect was that it could lead a person to prepare – physically, mentally, emotionally - in order to avoid whatever potentially unpleasant outcome they feared may come their way. That said, the monster-slayer also knew that fear was responsible for as many deaths as the most dangerous monster found in any bestiary.  Fear could definitely interfere with one’s ability to use the rational part of the mind.  It could paralyze a man, cripple his ability to think and to, therefore, act – to act quickly, decisively, and perhaps, most importantly, accurately and logically. Fortunately, if there was one skill the witcher had learned in eight decades of facing monsters and his own death on a very routine basis it was how to compartmentalize and overcome any fear he felt.  Like any sane man, he, at times, felt fear. He had even learned to recognize and accept its presence, but he’d be damned if he let it affect his actions in any area of his life anymore.  He hadn’t let it keep him from giving his heart to Evie, and he wasn’t about to let it stop him from saving her now. Those thoughts kept the witcher company as he and his sorcerer friend made their way down the hidden passageway through the mountain and towards the magical academy.

 

By that point, an hour had passed since Geralt had found Benny bound and beaten in his shop. The mage needed a cane to help with walking, but just the fact that he was mobile was a testament to both the power of the witcher’s healing potion and also his own magical healing spells. 

 

After hearing Geralt’s summary of his interaction with Thacker, Benny had asked, “Do you honestly believe that he’ll just let your friends go after you kill whatever monster is inside the Academy?”

 

“Hell no,” the witcher had answered. “We’ll just have to make sure that we’ve got a Scorch card up our sleeve to play.  Tell me everything you know about the man – even if it’s just rumors.  I want to know what he holds most dear.”

 

“Well, there’s his horse,” the mage had replied.

 

The two men had discussed their plan all the way into the forest outside of the magical academy, with Benny leading them to one of the secret passageways that led in and out of the school.  With the plan in place, all that was left was the execution, and the first step to it all was finding the monster.  But, the witcher knew that step, typically, wasn’t very difficult. In fact, it was usually the easiest part of the plan, for the monster, more times than not, found him first.

 

oOo

 

            “Are you sure you don’t want to head to my lab to grab the concealment ingredients?” asked the sorcerer in a whisper.

 

            “Not a priority right now, Benny,” answered Geralt. “Monster first.”

 

            “Right. Of course. We can go there afterwards…if there _is_ an afterwards,” stated the mage nervously.

 

            The witcher looked at his friend but didn’t say anything in response.

 

            The two men had just exited from a hidden doorway located in an academy building that housed random supplies. Metal cauldrons were piled together in a corner. Disconnected bed frames and head boards lay against one wall, and extra tables and chairs were stacked everywhere within the room. They headed through the maze of equipment and furniture and approached the door that led to the academy grounds. Instead of reaching for the door knob, though, Geralt turned to his companion.

 

            “Last chance to turn back, Benny. No need for you to come along. My friends…aren’t _your_ friends.

 

            Benny furrowed his brows. “Not yet, but you _are_ , and friends help each other.  So, not another word, got it?”

 

            The witcher locked eyes with the mage. “Thanks, Benny.”

 

            They continued to look at each other for just a moment longer before giving the other a slight nod of the head. Then, Geralt opened the door and led them out into the still-dark night. The witcher stopped on the cobble-stone pathway and surveyed the academy grounds.  It had been many years since he’d last been inside the school’s walls, but other than the random gardens being overrun with weeds and the lawns being knee-high, not much looked different to his eyes.  He recognized the dozen or more large, stone buildings situated in an orderly manner around the grounds.  He knew that the multistoried structures housed the adepts’ living quarters and most of the classrooms and labs while the single-story buildings held the more functional aspects of the school – i.e., the dining hall, the laundry facility, the greenhouses, and the stables, where a variety of animals – both magical and non - had been kept back when the school was operational.  The appearance and structure of all of these edifices were quite uniform. They were all plain and utilitarian, not possessing a lot of personality.  

 

However, there was one academy building that stood out from the rest.  A dark castle, several stories high with three traditional-looking towers, was off by itself, separate from all the other buildings. It was a true architectural marvel. Because it was built right into the side of a sheer rock face of the Blue Mountains, it was impossible to tell where the castle ended and the actual mountain began.  Originally, the castle had been the only building of the Ban Ard Magical Academy, and it had remained so for several centuries.  However, as the human population grew and more and more magical users were discovered, the castle had to be supplemented.  Thus, the reason for the other structures and the eventual wall that had been built around the entire grounds.  In recent years, the castle had served as a location for graduations, special meals, and other prestigious events.  However, it wasn’t just used for ceremonial purposes only.  Almost all of the senior faculty – except for Benny and a few others - had lived in the castle, and the advanced mages, especially those dealing in the most arcane areas of magic, had conducted their most dangerous experiments in the castle’s labs, found either in the towers or the dungeons.

 

            Benny watched the witcher breathe in deeply several times.  The monster-slayer, with his silver sword already in hand and several elixirs already coursing through his veins, began to turn his body in a slow circle.

 

            “What do you smell?” asked Benny.

 

            Geralt shook his head. “Something feral.  There’s definitely something not human here.”

 

            “Great. Thought so. Can you tell its location?” whispered the mage.

 

            He shook his head again. “The scent is all over the place,” he answered in a low voice. “But maybe I can track it.”

 

            “Great. Thought so,” responded the sorcerer again sarcastically.  “I’ll be right behind you.”

 

            Over the next fifteen minutes, Benny followed the witcher as he made his way through the academy grounds, occasionally bending down to inspect the pathways and lawns and routinely pausing to sniff the air. The mage had extinguished his torch but was still able to see Geralt well enough from the illumination from the stars and the half-full moon that hung low in the sky.  Eventually, they realized that they were heading in the direction of the dark castle, at which point the White Wolf stopped in the middle of the narrow, cobble-stone road.

 

            “Our monster apparently likes clichés.  Looks like it’s in there,” the witcher stated, nodding towards the ominous-looking edifice. 

 

He looked up at the tall spires of the centuries-old structure.  The castle looked like it was right out of a ghost story.  As his eyes roamed over all of its darkened windows, he couldn’t pick up even the slightest trace of light coming from within, but the odor was definitely coming from that way.

             

            “Of course it is.” Benny then sighed. “Hell, I didn’t particularly care for this old castle even when I worked here.”

 

            “Why’s that?”

 

            “Just gave me the creeps.  I always got the sense that it was alive. Always full of odd sounds.  Made the hair on the back of my neck stand on end. Strange things always happening – suits of armor would disappear and reappear at some other location. Never figured out if someone was moving them as a lark or if they were doing it on their own.  And there was no telling what my colleagues got up to in there.”

 

            “Swell.”

 

            “Exactly.  So…lead the way,” stated the sorcerer. “Like I said, I’ll be right behind you.”

 

            The two men walked toward the steps of the castle. However, before actually getting there, Geralt suddenly stopped. He bent down and peered at both the ground in front of him and the steps that led up toward the castle’s front doors. 

 

            “What is it?” asked Benny.

 

            “Blood stains. Lots of ‘em. Some weeks old…but some fairly fresh, too.”

 

            “Human?”  


            The witcher bent down even lower and inhaled deeply.

 

“Mostly animal…elk or deer maybe.  But, I am picking up a trace of human blood, too.” He turned to look at Benny. “Do you know exactly where on the grounds the attacks took place?”

 

            The sorcerer shook his head.

 

            Geralt stood up, his eyes focused on the castle’s entrance. Before moving towards the large front doors, the witcher looked up at the night sky one more time and noticed the faintest touch of light coming on.  He could tell that morning would be arriving soon. The monster-slayer ascended the steps up to the front doors, being careful not to step in the drops of blood. He slowly opened the doors, but instead of entering, he paused and turned to Benny.

 

            “Do you hear that?” the witcher whispered.

 

            Benny shook his head. “No, but let me guess – creepy sounds?”

 

            The White Wolf nodded in the affirmative.

 

            The sorcerer nodded his head, as well. “Great. Thought so.”

 

The witcher was a little confused by what he was hearing.  The noises actually sounded like the roar or growl of some large feline creature, but he was pretty certain that neither mountain lions nor panthers lived in this area of Kaedwen. At least, it had been years since he’d seen any.

 

            They moved carefully inside the castle, at which point, the witcher stopped again while Benny relit his torch.  He looked around the large, main foyer - with its many hallways leading elsewhere - and breathed in deeply.

 

            “What is it? Lost the scent?” Benny asked in a whisper.

 

            Geralt shook his head. “Just the opposite. It’s everywhere…so there’s no trail to follow.”

 

            “So, what’s next?”

 

            “Follow the noise…or the blood,” answered the White Wolf as he carefully moved forward.

 

            Within a minute, the witcher paused and looked closely at the floor. He turned and whispered into Benny’s ear.

 

            “The blood trail’s split. Looks like the older human blood heads in that direction,” he said, pointing in one direction of the castle’s first floor. “The fresher, animal blood seems to be heading in the same direction as the noises,” he finished, pointing towards a staircase that only went down.

 

            “Of course. The dungeons,” replied Benny, to which the witcher simply nodded.

 

            A few moments later, the witcher and mage were traversing down a circular set of stairs that led to the dungeons below.  By this time, even Benny could pick up the strange noises. There was the occasional thumping sound that sent vibrations through the floor, as if something heavy was being slammed hard against a wall.  This was interspersed with other muffled noises that the mage just couldn’t discern. The noises got louder and louder the lower they descended.  They paused as they reached the ground floor.  There was one hallway straight ahead while another ran into the darkness towards their left.  While still on the first floor above, the sorcerer had informed Geralt that the main hallways of the dungeon formed the shape of a square, with multiple rooms located on both the outer and inner walls of the hallways.  However, branching off the main hallways, there was a maze of smaller corridors where one could easily get lost.

 

The witcher once again took in a deep breath. Given that they were down in a confined, unventilated space, the odor of the unknown beast was incredibly potent.  Then, he noticed several torches housed in sconces along the dungeon wall.  That, in and of itself, wasn’t unusual. However, what was strange was that in one of the torches he could just detect the tiniest, visible burning ember on the tip of a piece of straw.  He walked closer to the torch and was able to pick up a distinct burning scent, as if it had held a flame several hours before.  He furrowed his brows at the discovery, for this clearly changed his assumptions with regards to what he was about to face. The witcher didn’t know of any non-sapient beings that used torches, much less knew how to light them.

 

            The two men continued to walk down the darkened hallway, getting closer and closer to the door, behind which originated the mysterious noises. Geralt’s back was to the wall as he side-stepped down the wide corridor.  As he approached the door in question, his medallion vibrated for what seemed like the twentieth time since entering the castle.  The wolf-head was picking up a lot of residual magic from the centuries-old edifice. There was no telling how much magic had just seeped into its walls over the years.  Either that, or maybe Benny was right, and the castle itself was actually a sentient, magical entity. Geralt had seen stranger things in his life.   Just last year, outside of Urialla Harbor on An Skellig, he had come across a magical tower with a defense-system that actually spoke. Made it seem as if the tower had a real mind of its own. 

 

            When the monster-slayer got to within fifteen feet of the door, he suddenly stopped.

 

            Benny heard the witcher whisper, “What the hell?”

 

            The sorcerer looked down and saw three kids sleeping on the floor right in front of the door.  To his eyes, they looked to be teenagers. It appeared as if they had been leaning back against the wall opposite the door and had, at some point, fallen asleep. The oldest of the three looked to be in the middle, and he was still, more or less, resting upright, though his head was slumped forward.  One was curled up in a ball on the stone floor with her head resting in his lap.  The third was sitting next to the oldest and had fallen over, his head leaning against the shoulder of the first.

 

            The witcher looked at the scene and then moved forward slowly with stealth.  As he approached the iron door, he noticed that there were several metal bars across it, ensuring that whatever was in the room stayed there.  His medallion vibrated lightly as he stood in front of the door.  The witcher was fairly certain that it was twitching from whatever was in the room and not from the three, mysterious teenagers sleeping in front of it.  In spite of that, he still gripped his sword at the ready as he gently kicked the heel of the middle kid’s shoe.

 

            “Wake up,” he commanded as he kicked the boy’s foot again.

 

            Suddenly, the teenager opened his eyes. Upon seeing Geralt - and particularly his cat eyes reflecting in the light of Benny’s torch – he yelled and scrambled to his feet, causing the other two to crash to the dungeon floor. 

 

            “Relax. I’m not here to hurt you,” stated the witcher, and though he didn’t sheath his sword, he did lower it to his side. By this time, the other two were awake and were both standing next to, and slightly behind, the young man.

 

            “What’s behind the door? And how in the hell did you trap it?” the monster-hunter asked.

 

            Before the boy in the middle could answer, the girl to his left blurted out, “Who are you? Why are you here?”

 

            Geralt wanted to keep things calm so he decided to answer her questions.

 

            “I’m not going to harm you. I’m Geralt of Rivia…a witcher.”

 

            “A witcher?” she asked rhetorically with fear in her voice. “Lukas, he’s here to kill them. You can’t let him.”

 

            “Please, sir, you don’t understand.  Please don’t go in there,” the young man – Geralt assumed Lukas – implored.

 

            Just then, Geralt heard several knocks coming from the metal door behind him and his medallion vibrated again.  He noticed that the three kids looked nervously at one another.  He listened closely and realized that all of the other noises coming from the room had ceased. Moments later, the knocks were repeated.  It was clear from the cadence of the knocks that they were some type of signal.

 

            “Move down the hall,” he ordered to the three. “Benny, watch them.”

 

            The sorcerer moved toward the three. “Come on, this way.”

 

            The Butcher of Blaviken then turned to face the room. After the third knock, he reached forward with his left hand and unbarred the door.  After lowering the last barrier, he quickly moved to his right and raised his weapon as the door slowly opened into the hallway.  As the witcher’s medallion vibrated hard against his chest and a large, hairy creature on two legs exited the room, the girl ran past Benny and began yelling.

 

            “No! Don’t kill him!”

 

            She ran past the monster and stood in front of it, facing the witcher, her arms spread out wide. The beast turned and upon seeing the White Wolf, with sword drawn, let out a menacing roar. But with the young woman between them, it didn’t advance toward the monster-slayer. Geralt stood still, staring into eyes that were quite similar to his own. The creature stared back for several tense moments, during which time the witcher’s eyes scanned the beast.  It stood well over eight feet tall, with short, tan hair covering its entire body - a body spotted in several areas with fresh blood. At the end of each appendage were wide paws with visible claws. Its hair fell down past its shoulders like a lion’s mane, its snout had long whiskers on the end, and its snarling mouth was filled with a set of intimidating, clearly carnivorous teeth.  The witcher could see that the monster was obviously a cross between a man and some type of large, predatory cat.  Finally, Geralt broke the silence.

 

            “More blood doesn’t _have_ to be shed. I’m willing to talk.”

 

            The creature let out a low growl. It continued to stare at the witcher before finally, slowly turning towards the door that it had just exited. It glanced quickly at Benny and then shut the door and barred it closed. Then, faster that the sorcerer thought possible, the creature moved like a flash. It pounced at the mage and then sprang up behind him.  Suddenly, Benny felt his head in the monster’s vice-like grip.  He felt five sharp claws digging into his scalp, pulling his head slightly back, and the other five claws were at his throat, breaking the skin of his neck.

 

            In a strange, deep voice, the monster replied, “I’d have been more inclined to believe that if you had sheathed your sword. Make one move, and I’ll rip his throat out.”

 

            The hallway was deathly quiet except for the four humans’ heavy, adrenaline-fueled breathing.

 

            Benny was trying to make eye-contact with the witcher, but the monster-slayer’s eyes were transfixed on the beast.  The mage finally broke the silence.

 

            “I’ve lived a long life, Geralt.  So, screw it…do what you gotta do.”

 

            At that, the Butcher of Blaviken locked eyes briefly with the sorcerer, gave a slight nod and then glared at the beast.  He twirled his sword to his side and then gripping the hilt in both hands, brought it up to his right shoulder.

 

            “Remember this,” growled the monster-slayer, staring into the beast’s eyes.  “I gave you a chance to parley…so _everyone’s_ blood will be on _your_ hands.”

 

“Wait! Wait!”

 

            The yell, coming from the other side of the monster, echoed throughout the hallway. The eldest teenager, Lukas, jumped from behind the beast, moved quickly past it and the girl, and stood in between Geralt and the rest.

 

            “We don’t have to do this!”

 

 He then turned and faced the monster.

 

            “Let him go, Rien. Please,” the young man implored. “What you did for us will be all for naught if we die in this dungeon. And you know that you’re about to change…any moment now.”

 

            The eyes of the lion-like monster shifted back and forth from the boy to the witcher, as if deciding on which course of action to take.  Several tense moments passed and, then, suddenly, Benny decided that if he was going to die down in that dungeon, then he was going out his way and not as a whimpering hostage.  He quickly raised his right hand and thrust the torch over his shoulder and into the face of the beast, who howled and jumped back.  Seeing this, Geralt instantly cast an Aard Sign forward, blowing the two teenagers off their feet and into both Benny and the beast.  The four bodies fell to the floor in a heap.  Immediately, the witcher was on top of the monster, and just as he was about to thrust his sword downward and through the creature’s face, he saw that it had transformed.  No longer was there a monster but a young man of average height, with long, blond hair and a completely nude, muscular body.

 

Benny disentangled himself from the pile of bodies and brought his hand up to his neck. He examined it, and seeing only a few drops of blood, he let out a sigh of relief. He smiled weakly at the witcher.

 

“I thought I was going to lose more than a finger that time.”

 

Geralt nodded at the comment, but he never took his eyes off the man beneath him. And his sword was still poised at the ready, the tip of the blade just inches from the man’s neck.

 

“Feel like talking _now_?” the witcher asked with a snarl. “Or, do I have to beat your ass?”

 

 

 


	4. Chapter 4

_Ban Ard; a month earlier_

Gretel knew two things about herself – that she had always enjoyed sex and that she had always possessed a vivid imagination. The latter she had discovered and developed as a child; the former as a teenager. Her parents had married young, and she’d been born shortly after.  However, she’d never known her father, as he had been a casualty in one of the countless battles between Kaedwen and Aedirn over the Lormark - the disputed land of Upper Aedirn that the two countries had been warring over for centuries.  Her birth had been very difficult and complicated for her mother, leaving the woman unable to conceive again. Gretel had, therefore, never had any younger siblings to play with despite the steady flow of boyfriends that entered and left her mother’s bedroom.  She had grown up mostly alone and, thus, had been forced to rely on her imagination to keep from being so lonely and bored.  She spent countless hours playing by herself - and, later, as she got older, while doing chores - day-dreaming that she was a beautiful princess in a world full of evil witches, dark castles, dangerous monsters, and, of course, daring and dashing knights.

 

She fell in love at the age of eleven with Heinrich, the first boy to show her any kind of real attention.  They began having sex a couple of years later, and they married at fifteen, just like her parents. But in a cruel twist of fate, she had, just like her mother, become a war-widow several years ago when, once again, Kaedwen – including Heinrich and the rest of the Ban Ard troops - invaded the Lormark. At that point, there were several paths she could have taken to deal with her grief and to move on with life, but she’d learned too well from her mother, and she’d begun using sex to combat the loneliness, pain, and emptiness that she felt inside. Not coincidentally, she soon rediscovered the vivid imagination that she’d developed as a little girl, pretending with each encounter that she was still in the arms of her beloved Heinrich.  It was still something she practiced many years later as a prostitute in Madame Spraven’s Ban Ard brothel.  Though, over time, she had also begun to supplement that imagination with a steady and daily dose of fisstech.  One’s imagination could only do so much for so long, after all.

 

            Gretel, her body still covered in sex-induced sweat and her mind still slightly addled with narcotics, led three men down the backstairs of the newly-converted brothel and towards the magical tower on the east side of the Academy grounds.  She knew that, technically, she wasn’t supposed to the leave the whorehouse with clients – and certainly not without Madame Spraven’s approval - but she had been curious about the dark and mysterious castle since laying eyes on it less than a week ago, and none of her friends and co-workers would accompany her on a proposed adventure within. Given that one of the three men was her last customer for the night and given that he’d bought her services for the hour and had only used a quarter of that time, then what better way to spend the last forty-five minutes on the clock. It certainly beat having him on top of her again.

 

Unbeknownst to her, the three men – her client and his two friends - were witch hunters visiting the brothel incognito. They were there not in their normal attire, for as official members of the church of the Eternal Fire they were not supposed to consort with prostitutes. However, throughout their service to the church while in Redania and, especially, while traveling through Kaedwen, that had never stopped the three “pious” men before. Though, they did have enough sense to hide their sexual proclivities from their fellow brothers of the Flame. They didn’t want to ruin a good gig after all – actually getting paid to kill magic users, and with no repercussions at that. They had agreed with Gretel that a night-time romp through the castle was a grand idea. Just from the looks that they gave one another, it was clear that they were all thinking the same thing – that the whore might give all three of them a freebie once they got her alone in the creepy palace.

 

            The four entered the dark castle as quietly as their drug-impaired brains would allow.  They had one small torch among the group, and they were all clustered tightly around it.  As they investigated the magical foyer and hallways, with the three witch hunters all carrying swords in their hands, they kept up an endless stream of whispering and non-sensical laughter, followed by one of the four immediately shushing the others. Eventually, they came to a room on the first floor with the door closed. They slowly entered and were shocked to see a gaggle of kids all sleeping on mattresses spread throughout the room. 

 

            “What do we got here? Some witches left behind?” asked one of the witch hunters loudly, now more alert than before and pointing his sword at the children, who were all suddenly awake and staring wide-eyed at the intruders.

 

Some were slightly in shock and cowering with their covers in front of them while a few – mostly the older ones - had jumped from their beds and were poised for battle.

 

            “Uh huh…and a pretty one at that,” answered his compatriot.

 

In the torch light, a teenage girl’s long blond hair had caught his eye, and he took several steps toward her and grabbed her arm, causing her to scream.

 

            “Don’t touch her!” yelled one of the male teenagers, bringing his hand down violently and knocking the witch hunter’s hand away from the girl. 

 

That was all it took for chaos to ensue. Swords were swung, screams rent the air, and blood was shed.  Quickly, the one-sided skirmish was over, and two teenagers lay slain on the floor, two others were wounded, and the girl was firmly in the grasp of the witch hunters.  Gretel had backed away during the fight and was trembling, with her back firmly against the wall near the door of the room.  Suddenly, she heard an incredibly loud and menacing growl next to her, but with the torch laying on the floor in the middle of the room she couldn’t see what was in the doorway.  And, then, the “thing” leapt into the room and began to tear the three witch hunters to shreds.  The prostitute with the vivid imagination no longer needed it. She watched in silence as blood flew through the air and as screams of fright and agony and monstrous roars filled the room. In that massacre, no one saw her flee the premises just seconds after the nightmare had begun.  

 

oOo

 

            The witcher and the sorcerer sat on one side of a large table. The soft, morning sunlight shone through large windows, illuminating the castle’s banquet hall. On the other side of the table was Rien, surrounded by eight kids, either sitting next to him or standing behind him. Geralt guessed that the kids were in the age range from perhaps four to sixteen. The two youngest ones sat in the laps of older ones, their small arms clinging tightly around necks, seeking a sense of comfort and safety. They all seemed to be a bit frightened and overwhelmed by the excitement of the morning and by the appearance of the two strange men sitting across from them. But, there was one boy of around age seven or eight who didn’t look nervous at all.  He sat in a chair quietly, just staring at Geralt.  Every time the witcher looked over at the boy, he would be gazing right back at the witcher, his eyes taking in everything about the monster-slayer – the swords on his back, the medallion on his chest, his armor, his eyes, and his scars. Geralt noticed that the boy had an old-looking scar that ran across the bridge of his nose and diagonally across his left cheek.

 

            Geralt and Benny had just finished listening to the story of how Rien had saved the orphans and particularly Tressa - the pretty, blond teenager - from the witch hunters that night four weeks ago.

 

            “Kill me if you want, Witcher,” said Rien, with still a trace of anger in his voice. “But, then _you_ can take over the responsibility of looking after them – protecting them, feeding them.”

 

            Ban Ard was no different than any other town, especially in a world ravaged by wars and monsters, and it, thus, had its fair share of orphans.  Six months ago, about a dozen of them had decided to sneak into the abandoned magical academy, looking for both food and a place to live that was safer than the dangerous back alleys of the city.  Upon finding the empty living quarters and dining hall still stocked with food, they thought that they’d found nirvana. For the next several months, all was well, but when Thacker re-opened the academy grounds, the orphans hastily and quietly relocated into the castle. Madame Spraven’s girls – with the help of many of Thacker’s men - came in and took over the living quarters and dining hall, and with access to the food no longer available, the group of orphans began to grow hungry.  After discussing their plight one night, they were incredibly surprised to find the next morning a freshly killed deer in the middle of the main foyer. They were suspicious at first, but the hunger overcame their suspicions, and they quickly took it to the castle’s kitchen to dress and cook it.  For the next week, they searched the castle looking for their benefactor but with no luck.  He had finally showed himself when the witch hunters attacked, and for the last month, he had been supplying food for the group as needed.

 

            Geralt looked at the young man.  He appeared to be in his early to mid-twenties, but given that he wasn’t one hundred percent human, then there was no telling his actual age.  He had some fresh bruises and wounds on his forearms and face, and Tressa, the pretty blond, sat very close to him.

 

            “I don’t plan on killing you, but I’ve got a problem…because I need your head,” responded the witcher. Upon seeing the look of fear – or, in Rien’s case, anger - on several faces, he then proceeded to explain what he meant.

 

            After hearing Geralt’s story, Rien looked the witcher in the eye and nodded.

 

“I’m sorry for your predicament, but I don’t see how you can solve it without my death.”

 

            “No! That’s not going to happen, Rien.  He said so,” interjected Tressa while squeezing his forearm.  She then turned to the White Wolf. “You said so, right?”

 

The witcher could easily see the desperation on her face and in her voice.  

 

            He nodded. “Yeah. I only kill monsters that deserve it.  And as far as I can tell, you don’t fall into that category,” Geralt replied. _“At least, not yet,”_ he thought to himself.

 

            “So, then what are we going to do?” asked Lukas, the oldest of the orphans.

 

            “You?  Nothing.  We-” and the witcher nodded towards Benny,”-already had a plan before we got here, but now…I may have another idea.  But, it’ll involve you,” responded the witcher, looking at Rien. And then he told them his plan.

 

            Rien nodded his head. “It could work. There’s only one problem.  Afterwards, people may start coming back in here, using the Academy again, and for the foreseeable future, we can’t have that.”

 

            “And why’s that?” asked Benny.

 

            Rien’s eyes shifted to the mage. “Because there’s another one of me downstairs. And he’s not safe at all right now.”

 

            “Great. Thought so,” the sorcerer said and then sighed. “Just so we’re clear – what _exactly_ are you?” asked Benny.

 

            Rien slowly shook his head. “That’s a good question. Truth is…I don’t rightly know.”

 

            “What _do_ you know?” asked the witcher.

 

            “I remember waking up, several years ago, in the dungeons down below one day.  Based on my size, I was probably fourteen or fifteen, but I had no memory of my past or how I got here.  Over the years, bits and pieces of my childhood have come back, but they’re blurry. I can’t recall a lot of details.  I can remember that I had loving parents and siblings, and I can even remember vaguely what they look like, but I don’t remember their names or where we lived.” The young man shook his head.  “I just don’t remember how I came to be like this.  I don’t know if it was a curse, or if I was bitten, or if I was the subject of some magical experiment. I just don’t know.”

 

            “Geralt, you’re the expert. What do you think?”

 

            “Not sure yet. Let’s go see the other one…the one downstairs.”

 

            Five minutes later, Geralt, Benny, and Rien were back down in the dungeons looking at a teenage boy, Nikolai, lying on a mattress in the middle of a foul-smelling room.  There was blood -  along with some feces - all over the floor and a shredded and ripped-up carcass of some type in the corner of the room. The adolescent was naked, with bruises and scrapes over much of his body.

 

            “What the hell is going on? What’s wrong with him?” asked Benny.

 

            “During that night battle a month ago, he and I both got cut by those men’s swords.  Somehow, my blood got into his veins, and I guess…my curse…my gift – whatever it is – is carried in my blood because just the smallest amount of it was, obviously, enough to change him. At night, he unconsciously converts into his lion form, and when he’s in it, he’s mostly uncontrollable.  I was told that I was like that at first, too.”

 

            _“Who_ told you?” the witcher asked.

 

            “Zollicoph. The mage that…either took care of me or was my captor – depending on how you look at it.”

 

            Upon hearing the name, Benny grunted.

 

            “What do you know, Benny?”

 

            The sorcerer shook his head.

 

“Z. and I didn’t hang around in the same circles. He was much more powerful than I was…and studied and experimented in some pretty dark magic.”

 

            The White Wolf nodded and then turned back to Rien. “You said that you used to be uncontrollable? What changed?”

 

            Again, Rien shook his head. “I honestly don’t know.  I guess that…in time, I just started to learn how to control the animal side of my mind – even when I was in a converted state, which only happens at night, by the way.  At first, every time the sun went down, I’d transform, no matter what. And when the sun came up and I changed back, I couldn’t remember anything that had happened that night.  Eventually, I got to the point where I could control if I transformed or not, even after sunset.  And, now, when I am in my converted state, I can still think rationally, though I’ll admit that my animal instincts and aggressiveness are much more prevalent.  I’ve also gotten to the point where, now, when I do change back into my human form, I can still remember what happened the night before.  The only time that I can’t control the transformation is during a full moon.  I change then no matter how much I fight against it.”

 

            “So, what are you doing with him?” asked Geralt.

 

            “I’m trying to train him, help him.  At first, Zollicoph did a lot of experiments with me to try to help me learn to control it. Some were unpleasant, but the meditation wasn’t so bad.  I honestly don’t know if any of that worked or if I just finally adjusted and learned on my own over time.  This is just a guess, but maybe, when the lion-blood first enters the body, it’s like we’ve been reborn…since we’re, technically, a new creature.” Rien then just shrugged. “Perhaps our minds revert back to an infant state, and it just takes time for the human part of the brain to fully assimilate the lion side of us and to develop to the point where it can think critically again. Maybe that’s why I have trouble remembering anything clearly from before – kind of like how no one can remember events from when they were babies. Whatever the explanation, right now, Nikolai’s still in his ‘infant’ state. Like I said, I don’t know much about this, but I’ve spent every night with him for the last month in our lion-forms trying to communicate with him.”

 

            “Is it working?”

 

            “Yeah…I think so. At times, he’s still out of control and we end up…rough-housing. That’s why we’re covered in bruises and scratches, but, yeah, he’s already getting better. There are times when he’s actually calm, and when I make eye-contact with him, it’s like I can almost see the human part of his mind trying to communicate with me.”

 

            “What’s with the mess?” asked Benny, nodding his head at the interior of the room.

 

            “During the day, he’s comatose.  I was told that I was like that, too.  This is another guess, but perhaps, early on, even when the body is human, the lion part is still in control of the brain, which just causes everything to malfunction and shut down. Our maybe his mind and body are so stressed from the transformations that it simply has to go into a state of complete rest during the day. I don’t know. Anyway, because he’s out during the day, the only time we can feed him is at night. So, I’ll bring him a deer or elk carcass every few nights.  We usually clean up in here first thing in the mornings – but you two came along last night.”

 

            The witcher didn’t look abashed at all by the accusation and simply asked, “So, what’s your best guess? When do you think he’ll be able to control it – like you can?”

 

            Rien shrugged. “I’m hoping within a year…but, it’ll probably be closer to two.”

 

            “Damn it,” the witcher said after a sigh.

 

            “Exactly.  That’s why the town folk coming in here would not be good for anyone. I need someplace safe and out of the way to work with him for, at least, the next twelve months.”

 

            “Geralt, do you think this is a curse?”

 

            “Maybe. It sounds like he’s a werelion.”

 

            “You mean, like a werewolf?”

 

            The witcher nodded. “Yeah. Lycanthropes are the most common form of shape-shifters, but there are other types of were-animals. I’ve read about a few, but, to be honest, I thought they were all extinct.”

 

            “If it’s a curse, can you lift it?”

 

            “Rien’s curse, possibly. But, not the boy’s.”

 

            “What’s the difference?”

 

            “I’ve only ever lifted one werewolf curse, and I needed his consent and cooperation during his converted form to do it. I’m not going to get that with the boy.” He then turned to Rien. “And I’m guessing, at this point, since you’re helping him, you don’t won’t me to even try and lift your curse. Which, if I’m honest, I’m still not a hundred percent sure it even is that.  Your condition could be due to magic.”

 

            Rien shook his head. “No. At least for now, I need to stay this way to help Nikolai.”

 

            “Then, what are we going to do?” asked Benny.

 

            They both looked at Geralt, who didn’t say anything for the longest time.  He was staring at the dungeon floor, smoothing down the stubble on his face absent-mindedly, as if lost in deep thought.  Finally, he nodded, exhaled, and looked up at the Rien.

 

            “I know of a place that’s safe and remote. No one should find you there. But, it’s a bit of a trek.”

 

oOo

 

            Near midnight, there was a knock on the closed door.

 

            “Enter,” responded Thacker, sitting comfortably behind the desk in his office in the town hall.

 

            One of his men entered but stopped short upon seeing a young woman down on her knees in front of the alderman.  Thacker then gave the girl a light slap upside the head.

 

            “I didn’t tell you to stop,” he stated, glaring down at the woman, who then proceeded to go back to the business at hand.

 

            He then turned his attention to the messenger. “Yes, Liam, what is it?”

 

            “The, uh, witcher is here.”

 

            “Excellent. With the monster’s head?”

 

            “Umm…I don’t know. He’s got somebody with him, but I didn’t see any monster – head or otherwise.”

 

            Thacker let out a frustrated sigh. “Very well. Riley, that’s enough. We’ll finish up later. Take the back stairs.”

 

            Less than five minutes later, the alderman walked through the back door of the town hall’s law enforcement office, a large room with several desks and tables and three jail cells off to one side of the room, two of which held prisoners. For the last twenty-four hours, the female elf had been on her knees, apparently in prayer, while the hung-over man had mostly slept on a cot, his arm over his eyes.  But, now, Thacker noticed that both of them – along with all of his men - were standing up staring at the office’s front doorway. His eyes moved in that direction to see the witcher, both swords on his back and his wolf-head medallion twinkling in the firelight from the torches ensconced around the large room. Standing in front of the witcher was a young man with both arms behind his back. He wore nothing but tattered pants, and his head was slightly bowed, his long hair partially obscuring his face.

           

“Where’s Evie?” asked the Butcher of Blaviken, staring down the alderman.

 

            Thacker smiled. “Oh, someplace safe…and secret…as an insurance policy. You didn’t think I’d actually trust you, did you? And I see that I was right not to. We had a deal, Witcher. I asked you to bring me the head of the monster – not some vagrant.”

 

            “I’ve brought you his head…it’s just still attached.”

 

            “This is the monster?” Thacker asked incredulously.

 

            The White Wolf didn’t bother to answer.  He was peering closely at every man in the room.  Then, the alderman saw him slightly nod to himself.

 

            “Witcher, I asked you a question. I expect an answer,” demanded Thacker with authority.

 

            The witcher still didn’t respond. The silence was finally broken by Rien, who said just a single word.

 

            “Geralt?”

 

            “All of them but Thacker,” answered the monster-slayer. “Benny.”

 

            Suddenly, the mage appeared out of thin air on the other side of the witcher. With a quick movement of his arms, all of the torches in the room were extinguished, and the room fell into almost complete darkness.  Immediately, Thacker heard an enormous growl coming from the front door, but before he could even move, he felt a vicious punch to the gut, which doubled him over and caused him to fall to the floor.  As he lay there, the wind completely knocked out of him, the shouts of his dying men and the terrifying roars of the monster penetrated his brain through the fog of pain.  

 

In the utter blackness, Thacker’s men stood little chance against the werelion, who could see clearly in the dark. They swung their swords blindly, but Rien’s speed and agility made it seem as if they were under water. He evaded their blades and then would powerfully swipe his deadly claws across faces, throats, guts, and groins.  He was onto his next victim before the previous one’s heart had completely stopped beating. Geralt watched all of this while standing over the alderman, his boot pressing down on Thacker’s neck, keeping him pinned to the floor.  One of Thacker’s men turned and began running towards the back door of the office, near where the witcher stood. Before he could get there, Geralt cast an explosive Aard Sign in his direction, knocking him completely off his feet and over a nearby desk. Rien was on the screaming man an instant later.

 

And then, suddenly, it was over. Thacker noticed that the yelling had stopped, but the screams seemed to still be echoing off the stone walls of the room. Then, his ears picked up a low growl coming his way.  He looked up to see a large shadow above him, and then it dropped down to the ground closer to him.  It was so near that he could feel the heat radiating from its body.  Its face was right next to his, its menacing growls filling his ears, and its hot, animal breath blowing on his face.

 

“Here’s your monster, Alderman,” growled the witcher, as he felt the man squirming under his boot. “Benny, the torches.”

 

As the torches were magically relit, the monster came into view, and the alderman’s eyes widened in shock. He desperately tried to scramble away, but Geralt had him pinned down.

 

“Now, where is she, Thacker?” he asked, looking down at the man, but the alderman was too focused on trying to get away from the beast that was just inches in front of him.

 

“Rien, hold him.”

 

The werelion reached out its powerful paws and held the alderman still.

 

The witcher then bent down next to Thacker’s face and slapped it hard to get his attention.  When he saw the alderman’s eyes turn his way, he glared at him and then slapped him again, bringing tears to the man’s eyes. The second slap was just because he felt like it.

 

“Where…is…Evie?” he asked again.

 

oOo

 

            Evie heard several knocks on the metal door twenty feet away, the sounds reverberating through the small dungeon.  She looked through the bars of her jail cell and saw her lone guardsmen stand and walk towards the door.  He slid a small, thin piece of metal that was eye-level to the right to see who was on the other side. She assumed it was somebody he knew since he then slid the larger rod of metal to the right to unbar the door to allow them entry.  As soon as the door was open, she heard a loud, explosive pop – which she clearly recognized was the result of an Aard Sign being cast - and the man flew backwards fifteen feet, landing hard on his back.  Hope began to surge within, but it quickly turned to fear as she saw a large monster pounce into the room with a loud roar and then viciously attack the downed guardsman.  He was dead just seconds later. She had unconsciously backed up to the wall of her cell, trying to get as far away from this monster as possible.  She was so focused on the beast that she didn’t even notice that anyone else had entered the room.

 

            The witcher grabbed Thacker by the collar of his shirt and threw him into the small dungeon, which was the original holding cell of the town hall. He then shut and locked the door behind them.  

 

            “Rien,” stated Geralt.

 

            The werelion, still crouching over the guardsman, rose to its feet, blood dripping from its paws. It walked slowly over to the alderman and stood behind him, purposefully breathing heavy on top of the man’s head and with his large paw grasping his neck.  Geralt found keys on a desk near the door, and he quickly moved over to Evie’s cell, looking at her closely the entire time that he was unlocking the door to her prison.  Upon noticing him, she moved up close to the door. She reached out and touched his left hand that was tightly gripping one of the iron bars.

 

            Right before the lock finally clicked, Evie said, “I knew you’d save me.”

 

            “Damn right,” he responded and then threw the door open. They came together, holding each other tightly.  They stayed that way, in each other’s arms, for several moments.

 

            Finally, Evie said, “Geralt, baby, you’re squeezing me too tight.”

 

            The witcher relaxed his hold. “Sorry.”

 

            He then took a step back so that he could look into his love’s face.

 

            “Did they touch you? Did they…rape you?” he asked, peering hard into her eyes.

 

            Evie looked down for just a second and then back up into his face. “They didn’t rape me, but he…” she answered. She didn’t finish. She didn’t need to.

 

            Suddenly, the Butcher of Blaviken turned from her and strode quickly toward the alderman, who instinctively covered his face with his hands. The witcher punched him in the gut as hard as he could, trying to drive his fist right through his back. Thacker fell to the ground in a coughing fit, so the Wolf kicked him in the ribs, knocking him over onto his back. He grabbed the man by his shirt and stood him upright again before driving his fist into his gut a second time, causing him to fall to the floor again.  Before the witcher could do anymore damage, he felt a hand on his arm at the same time as he heard Evie’s soft voice.

 

            “Geralt, please stop,” she said calmly. “Please, Geralt…don’t stoop to his level.”

 

            The White Wolf had ahold of the alderman’s shirt with both hands, but somehow her words found their way through his rage. He released his grip, and the alderman fell onto his back on the floor. The witcher then stood up and turned to face Evie. She looked into his eyes and nodded.

 

            “Kill him if you must – to keep him from harming anyone else, but don’t brutalize him, okay? That’s not _you_. That’s the darkness.”

 

            After a moment, the witcher nodded and then turned back toward the alderman on the floor.

 

            “I’d like nothing more than to beat your face in, pretty boy, but I’ve got other plans for you.” He then reached down and grabbed Thacker by the ears. “So, get up.”

 

            “Uh, Geralt...” interrupted Benny.

 

            “Yeah?”

 

            “What about her?” asked the mage, pointing to a woman cowering in the corner of another one of the dungeon’s cells.

 

            “Damn it.”

 

oOo

 

            _I can no longer live a lie. I am the monster of Ban Ard.  I’ve been trying to fight it, but it has gotten the best of me.  I killed the three men in the castle last month and the others that came to investigate days later.  And tonight, I lost control and killed all of these men around me.  I can’t take the guilt any longer._

_Please watch after Holly._

_Willet Thacker_

“Who’s Holly,” asked Rien. “His wife?”

 

            “No,” answered Benny.  “His purebred, race horse.  The only thing in this world – besides himself - that he actually seemed to ever care for.”

           

            The alderman – under the influence of Geralt’s Axii Sign – had just finished writing the suicide note. He was now standing, stripped naked, on a chair in the middle of the law enforcement office.  Around his neck was a noose that ran over a beam in the ceiling and was tied off below.  He was also covered in blood. Before transforming back into his human state, Rien had wiped the blood from his paws over Thacker’s hands, feet, chin and chest. 

 

            “Geralt, do you actually think anyone is going to believe this note?” asked Benny. “That Thacker was the monster?”

 

            “Ultimately…I don’t care.  I just want to throw people off our trail until we’re out of the area.  Hopefully, we’ll already be in Redania before some bright spark starts to see that the clues don’t really add up.”

 

            With that, the witcher kicked the chair out from under the alderman’s feet.

 

            The three watched Thacker gasp and fight for air, and then, as the life finally drained from him, Rien asked, “Didn’t want to give him any last words?”

 

            The White Wolf turned to look at the younger man and shook his head. “Actually think he had something worth hearing?”

 

            “Hell no,” answered Benny before Rien could reply. “Just a bunch of lies. Look, the son of a bitch never even had the crotch rot. Can’t believe I fell for it,” said the mage, shaking his head.

 

            The witcher, with brows furrowed, peered at the mage.

 

            “How can you tell? Wouldn’t your potions have healed him?”

 

            “You actually think I helped him…after that thieving bastard stole my home? I just kept selling him potions for hemorrhoids.”

 


	5. Chapter 5

_Vizima, Temeria_

            Fringilla Vigo rolled over in bed, and when her hand fell upon the cool sheets, she realized that she was alone. She raised herself up and looked about her third-story bedchamber. The moon was almost full, and its beams passed through the windows, bathing the room in soft light. Her eyes quickly scanned around her, noticing the clothes that were haphazardly strewn over the furniture and the floor. Then, her gaze shifted to her right. Attached to the boudoir was a small balcony, the double doors to which were wide open. An enormous silhouette, taking up half the entryway, stood still in the moonlight. The sorceress threw the sheets off of her naked body, slipped out of bed, and tiptoed quietly up to the shadow. She then pressed her bare breasts against the small of Malek’s back and wrapped her arms around his stomach.

 

            “This is the second night in a row that I’ve woken up with you missing from my bed. I don’t like it. Do you normally have trouble sleeping or is it just because you’re in bed with a ‘wicked’ sorceress?” she asked, rubbing her hands back and forth over the muscles of his abdomen.

 

            “No, Miss Vigo. It’s not you. It’s…typical,” he replied.

 

            “Malek, as I said last night, at this point, I think our relationship has moved past you calling me, ‘Miss Vigo.’” She lightly dragged the fingernails of both hands downward until she had him firmly in her grip.

 

“Now,” she purred, “Come back to bed.”

 

Later, the petite sorceress was lying on top of Malek, resting her sweat-soaked hair and head on his chest.

 

            “Malek?”

 

            “Yes…Fringilla?”

 

            “I’m curious. Why did you have me open a portal to Dol Blathanna yesterday? What did you do there?”

 

            When he didn’t respond, she asked, “State secrets?”

 

            “Something like that,” he responded.

 

            “Fair enough.” After a pause, she asked another question. “Do you…do you think we’ll actually defeat Redania? Or, can you not answer that either?”

 

            “I can, and…I don’t know. It doesn’t look promising at the moment.”

 

            “If we don’t, what will become of the Empire?”

 

            “Oh, the Empire will survive…even if we never cross the Pontar…even if we get pushed back to south of the Yaruga, the Empire will survive.”

 

            “But, not the Emperor?”

 

            Malek shook his head, but then realized she couldn’t see him. “No. I doubt he would survive that.”

 

            “And you, Malek – what would become of you?”

 

            “That, Fringilla…is unknown.”

 

            The green-eyed woman then raised herself up so that she could look down into his face. 

 

            “You shouldn’t have to die with Emhyr, Malek.  You know too much. You do too much. You are way too valuable to the Empire.”

 

            Malek smiled. “That’s kind of you to say, and I happen to agree with you. But, I’m not the one you’d have to convince...if it comes to that.”

 

            “So, are you saying that, if it was obvious that the demise of Emhyr’s reign was near, you’d…distance yourself?”

 

            Malek’s smile disappeared, and he snatched the woman’s tiny wrists in his hands.

 

            “Tread carefully, Miss Vigo. These walls have ears, and your words could easily be _misconstrued_ as borderline treasonous.”

 

            “No, Malek, you listen to me,” she said forcefully. “No one man is greater than the Empire. It was here long before he was born, and it’ll be here long after he’s gone.  His days are few – everybody knows it, but yours don’t have to be. So, ask yourself - just where do your loyalties lie…with him or with the Empire?”       

 

            The eyes of the man bore into Fringilla’s.  She thought that she saw him give just the slightest nods of his head, but he said nothing. But, then she felt something unmistakable, and a smile came to her face.

 

            “Really, Malek? Again?”

 

oOo

 

            “Geralt…could I…could I ride with you, please?”

 

The witcher sat atop Roach under the afternoon sun and rode slowly next to a small, covered wagon, which was being driven by Lydial and Evie.  A second wagon, steered by Benny and Rien and carrying a sleeping Nikolai, was right behind them on the dusty trail heading west toward Ard Carraigh. The wagons and supplies had been confiscated from the abandoned academy, and the spare horses pulling them had been provided by Thacker’s dead men. Barcain was the only other person on horseback, riding on the opposite side of the first wagon as Geralt.  The orphans – along with Gretel - either rode in the back of the wagons or would occasionally get out and walk alongside. Geralt had given the strumpet two choices after finding her imprisoned in the town hall dungeon – either stay behind bars and hope someone found her or come with them.  When he told her that she’d be free to go once they got to Ard Carraigh, she’d easily made up her mind.

 

The White Wolf looked down to see Isaac, the lad with the scarred face, peering up at him.  In the last two days, every time the small caravan had stopped to eat, the young boy had found a seat near the witcher.  The first time, he hadn’t said anything. He’d just sat quietly and listened to whatever conversation Geralt was having with those around him.  But, during their second stop, Geralt had asked the boy his name, which the witcher soon discovered had been a mistake. For after that, he found that the lad was way too inquisitive for the witcher’s taste.  He’d asked the monster-hunter countless questions since then – almost all of them pertaining to his swords, his fighting skills, the monsters that he’d killed, and the like.

 

 The witcher, still looking down at the boy, paused for a moment but finally answered, “Sure, kid.”

 

Then, he leaned down and pulled Isaac up and into the saddle with ease. Evie looked over to see the young boy sitting in front of Geralt and leaning back against the witcher’s chest, and a grin crossed her face.

 

“Geralt, can I ask you a question?” asked Isaac.

 

Evie saw Geralt give the faintest of sighs, which made her grin even wider.

 

“Sure, kid. What do you want to know now?”

 

He then proceeded to pepper Geralt with an onslaught of questions for fifteen minutes straight. During this entire time, the witcher kept looking over at Evie, who was staring at him with a warm smile on her face.

 

After Isaac’s final question – about witcher meditation – Geralt said, “You know, kid, I think you really need to hang out with Evie.”

 

“Why is that, Geralt?”

 

“You two are a lot alike. You both like to ask a lot of questions.  I think you’re a future historian in the making.”

 

The boy was silent for a moment. Then, he said. “Nah. I’d rather be with you. I don’t want to be with someone who asks a lot of questions.”

 

The witcher nodded his head. “Yeah, I know what you mean, kid. They can be annoying sometimes.”

 

He made eye-contact with Evie, who narrowed her eyes at him, but the smirk on her face made it clear that she knew he was joking.

 

Isaac didn’t understand the sarcasm and continued talking.

 

“I need to be with someone who has answers, not questions.”

 

“Well, I’m starting to run out of answers. I think you’ve asked me everything I know.”

 

Isaac didn’t say anything else for several minutes. Finally, he asked, “Is Lydial a witcher, too?”

 

Geralt had a perplexed look on his face. “No, she’s not. Why do you ask?”

 

“I’ve seen her down on her knees, doing witcher-meditation sometimes.  If she’s not a witcher, what is she doing?”

 

“She’s praying.”

 

“Oh,” Isaac replied simply.  “Praying…that’s talking to God, right?”

 

“Uh huh.”

 

“What do you exactly talk to him about?”

 

“Don’t know, kid. I’ve never done it. How about you ask her?” 

 

He then led Roach over, closer to the wagon, next to where Lydial and Evie were seated on the front bench.

 

“Lydial, Isaac’s got a question for you. In fact, it’d probably be best if he sat next to you for this.”

 

He then picked up the small boy and placed him on the bench next to Evie, who just shook her head at the witcher. He just smirked back at her. She stood up to let Isaac scooch over to sit in between the two women.

 

“What is it you wanted to know?” Lydial asked.

 

“What’s the difference between what you do and what Geralt does…between meditation and prayer?”

 

“Well, I can’t rightly speak on witcher-meditation – you’ll have to discuss that with Geralt - but I can talk to you about prayer.  Unlike regular meditation, when I pray, I’m not just clearing my mind or focusing my thoughts inward.  I’m actually focusing all of my thoughts outward - toward my God. I’m mentally speaking with him. His name is Essea.”

 

“Why do you talk to him?”

 

“Well, because he’s not just my God, and my protector and provider. He’s also my best friend. Do you have a best friend?”

 

Isaac shook his head, a sad look coming to his face. “I used to.”

 

“I’m sorry. What was your best friend’s name?”

 

“Billy.”

 

“Did you like spending time with Billy, playing together, talking about different things?”

 

“Yeah, he was great.”

 

Lydial nodded her head. “Yeah, friends are important.  Spending time with them is important. And that’s one reason I pray. That’s me spending time with my best friend, Essea. Do you understand?”

 

“I guess. Doesn’t look like a lot of fun, though,” he replied. “Why do you kneel?”

 

“Well, I was taught by my parents that, in those times when I have formal prayer, I am supposed to kneel before Essea as a sign of reverence and respect.  To bow down before him in humility, to show that he is my King and Lord. But, to be honest, most of the time when I pray, I don’t kneel because it just wouldn’t be practical since I talk to him all throughout the day. Like I said, he’s my best friend.”

 

“When you talk to him, do you ask him for stuff?”

 

“Well, yes and no. God’s not just some genie who you only go to when you want something from him.  Prayer is so much more than that, but yes, I do ask him for things – to watch over my loved ones, to protect us from evil, to encourage us through hard times. But many times, I’ll pray and I won’t ask him for anything.  I’ll just tell him what’s on my heart and mind. My worries and fears. Tell him that I’m grateful to him for the things that he’s sent that are bringing me joy.”

 

“If he’s God, doesn’t he already know all of that?”

 

Lydial laughed.  “Well, yes, he does, but…I believe that I am his child, and like any good father, he wants me to come to him and speak with him – even if he already knows everything that’s going on in my life.”

 

“Does he ever say anything back to you?”

 

She shook her head. “No, not really.  He reveals himself to me, to everyone, through his creation – through the world, the stars, the moon.  And over the years, I believe that he has spoken directly to specific individuals. He’s given direct revelation to certain prophets and priests, who, in turn, wrote down what he revealed about himself and his character.  But, he’s never revealed anything specifically to me. And that’s why the holy scriptures -” and at that, she pulled the Essean tome from a bag that was next to her. “That’s why this book is so precious and important.  This is the primary way that he has chosen to tell us about himself.  Reading this is how we get to know God, to know who he truly is.  And it’s through knowing him that I can actually love him…because, Isaac, you can’t truly love someone that you don’t know.  Whatever feeling that is…it’s not true love.  So, that’s why I read this every day, so that I can more fully understand who he is, what is promises are, and how I can live a life that honors him.”

 

She looked down into Isaac’s face, and he just nodded at her.

 

“I’m sorry. I think I got a little off topic.  Do you think you understand, or do you have more questions?”

 

He shook his head.  “No. I think I get it.  You pray to talk to him, and you read that book to hear him talk to you. Right?”

 

Lydial smiled and nodded. “Yes. That’s pretty close.”

 

At that point, Isaac heard laughter from some of the kids playing in the road behind him. He stood up on the bench and looked their way.  A moment later, he turned to Lydial.

 

“Thanks, Lydial, for explaining prayer.” He then looked at Geralt.  “You, too, Geralt.”

 

He then jumped down from the wagon and ran back to the others. 

 

            Evie turned to Geralt and smiled. “Sweet kid. And, you’re sweet, too, being so patient with him.  I know that it must be driving you crazy, answering all of his questions.”

 

            The witcher looked back at the kids running around the other wagon, and then he looked at Evie and slightly shrugged.

 

“I remember what it’s like…growing up without parents. So…” He didn’t finish his thought. “Anyway, he’s not the first kid I’ve ever dealt with.  Ciri was about his age when I took her in.”

 

            “What was she like?”

 

            He shook his head. “Nothing like him. She didn’t ask questions. She made demands. She was…a spoiled, stubborn, little princess…literally. Luckily, she grew out of it, for the most part, but it took a while.”

 

“I’m surprised you had the patience to deal with her.”

 

The White Wolf nodded his head. “Yeah, me, too. She was difficult at times. But…she was just a little kid – lost, alone…scared. She needed someone to protect her, to love her.”

 

Geralt, without even realizing it, had reached down with his left hand and was gripping Ciri’s wolf-head medallion that was tied to the belt loop of his pants.  After a moment, he spoke again but he was staring straight ahead when he did.

 

“She was an orphan, too - or, at least, she thought she was,” he said very quietly, as if he was only speaking to himself.

 

He was lost in his thoughts for a while, and then he turned and looked back again at the kids.  Of the nine, Isaac was the only one that didn’t have at least one sibling in the group.  In the last two days, the witcher had seen how they all interacted whether it was while playing, eating meals, or getting ready to sleep, and Isaac always seemed to be slightly off by himself.  It wasn’t obvious. He wasn’t isolated, but he always just seemed to be on the fringes.  Geralt wasn’t sure if that was Isaac’s choice or not, but he was clearly not as much a tight-knit member of the group as the rest.  He always seemed a bit unsure of himself - unsure of his role, unsure of his place. Perhaps, that was why the boy had so obviously attached himself to the witcher.  Geralt could certainly relate. He’d felt like an outcast his entire life.  As a witcher – a mutated human – he had never fit in with any group. Humans scorned him because of his mutations, non-humans distrusted him because he was human, and sapient “monsters” feared him because of his profession.  And if truth be known, he’d always even felt a little like an outsider with most witchers, too.  He’d never felt that he’d truly belonged anywhere – except on the Path, alone. But, that had started to change in the last few weeks with the realization that God had, at some point, reached down and touched him in a mysterious way. And he knew it wasn’t random chance at all that that realization had coincided with Evie and, soon after, Lydial entering his life. He had little doubt that it was all connected somehow.

 

Pondering on all of this – God, orphans, and outcasts - made him think of the exclusivity of the religion of the Eternal Fire, and then a question popped into his head. A question that he wanted answered. Coming out of his thoughts, he saw that Roach had dropped back just a bit during his introspection. He gave her a light squeeze with his feet and she sped up to draw even again with Evie and Lydial.  Evie looked at Geralt with concern in her eyes.

 

“Are you okay?” she asked.

 

He nodded.  “Yeah,” he responded, and then a small smirk came to his face. “Though, now…I guess it’s my turn to ask Lydial some questions.”

 

“No problem,” the elf said, with a smile of her own. “What’s on your mind?”

 

“One of the last things Iorveth said to me was that Essea was the God of the Aen Seidhe. And I’ve heard you say – and that book of yours say - that the Aen Seidhe are his chosen nation. What exactly does that mean – his chosen nation?”

 

“Well, we believe that he chose us out of all of the races to have a special and unique relationship with him.  Unfortunately, over the centuries, that fact has caused a lot of Aen Seidhe to become arrogant.  They believe that our special status is somehow due to some grand attributes that we possess that other races don’t.”

 

“I take it you don’t believe that.”

 

“Not at all.  Our earliest historical scriptures show the Aen Seidhe not as a powerful, conquering nation but as humble, lowly, starving slaves.  And it was at _that_ point that Essea chose to reveal himself to our leader, Creideamh.  It was while we were a weak, beaten-down, oppressed nation that he chose us.  _He_ delivered us out of slavery. _He_ protected us as we crossed the dangerous ocean. _He_ led us to the Continent and helped us prosper for centuries. So, I honestly don’t know where all of the Aen Seidhe pride comes from, but those that have it have clearly forgotten our history. The truth is that there should be no such thing as an arrogant believer of Essea.”

 

Geralt was nodding his head. “Okay. So, he chose you while you were a nation of slaves. But, chose you for what – for what ultimate purpose?”

 

“I honestly don’t know for sure. As I told Isaac earlier, I’m not one of his prophets. He’s never spoken directly to me, but…I believe – based on things I’ve read – that his plan is to reveal himself, to reveal his majesty to the entire world _through_ us.”

 

“What? Why would he even need to do that? Couldn’t he just reveal himself to whomever he wants?”

 

“Of course. Our God is in heaven, and he can do _whatever_ he pleases.  I don’t know why he’s chosen this as his plan. Nor do I even understand it really.  I just know that it is.”

 

“So, let me get this straight.  Essea’s plan is to reveal himself to you, the Aen Seidhe, and then the Aen Seidhe are supposed to tell the rest of the world about him?”

 

“More or less, yes.”

 

At this point, Geralt’s eyes narrowed. “Well, I’d say it’s ‘less.’  If that’s the plan, then you, elves, have _seriously_ failed in your part.  In my century of living, I’ve traveled all over this continent, met hundreds and hundreds of Aen Seidhe, and I _just_ heard of Essea two weeks ago. What the hell have you Esseans been doing for the last twelve centuries?  Hell, in just twelve _months_ , the fanatics of the Eternal Fire have spread the name of their god all across Kaedwen.”

 

“Geralt!” whispered Evie, looking embarrassed.

 

“It’s okay, Evie. He’s right.” She then looked back at Geralt. “You’re right, Geralt. I won’t defend us. And I’m as guilty as anyone.  We have no excuse. The simple explanation is that we saw how our fellow Aen Seidhe, those that decided to move into the human towns and cities, would eventually fall away from the faith – if they hadn’t already. I think that the rest of us, to combat that, reacted in the opposite extreme. To keep from being absorbed into the human culture, we decided to isolate ourselves instead. But, I don’t believe that either of those courses of action – absorption or isolation – is what Essea calls for us to do. Absorption gives us a lot of people to talk to but with nothing significant to say to them, and with isolation, we still have life-changing news of Essea, but no one to share it with.  So, you’re right, we’ve down a lousy job of sharing the great news of our God with the world around us.”

 

The witcher didn’t say anything for the longest time. He just stared off into the distance, breathing very slowly and deeply. Evie and Lydial didn’t speak either. In the silence, they could hear the sounds of the wagon wheels turning and the horses’ tails swishing flies off their backs.

 

Finally, Geralt looked again at Lydial. To Evie’s eyes, he looked a bit calmer.

 

“So…even though the Aen Seidhe are his chosen people, you’re saying that he’s apparently the God for all.  That he’ll accept everyone, even…a mutant like me.”

 

Lydial nodded. “Yes, Geralt, he will.”

 

“And just why exactly do you believe that? On what basis? Just because you _want_ to?”

 

She shook her head. “No. Because he says so in his scriptures.”

 

Geralt nodded. “Can you give me an example?”

 

“I can. Give me just a moment.”

 

And then Lydial gave the reins to Evie so that she could grab the tome. Eventually, she found the page she was looking for. 

 

“This is one of our poems of praise,” she said.

 

“Blessed, Essea, may you be gracious to us and bless us and make your face shine upon us – so that your ways may be known throughout the earth, your salvation among all of the nations.

You, Essea, are a father to the fatherless, a defender of widows, and savior to the oppressed.

You set the lonely in families and lead out the prisoners with singing.

May all the races praise you, O Holy God; May all the nations be glad and sing for you, for you rule all the earth with righteousness and equity.

None that come to you will you ever turn away.”

 

Geralt was silent for a bit before eventually asking. “And who wrote that?”

 

“The ‘father’ of the Aen Seidhe nation. Our first prophet and priest, Creideamh.”

 

“Who Essea spoke to?”

 

“Among others. Yes.”

 

“And why should anyone believe that this Creideamh wasn’t just some lunatic, making up nonsense?  I mean, the world is full of people claiming that God spoke to them, right?”

 

“You’re right.  But, most of what Creideamh recorded wasn’t just what Essea revealed _exclusively_ to him. He documented all of the promises that Essea made to the Aen Seidhe nation – breaking their chains of slavery, supplying them ships to cross the Great Sea, giving them a land of their own. He wrote about all of God’s miracles – raining down fiery meteorites from the skies, providing sustenance during the years on the ocean after the original stores of food ran out, causing a giant tidal wave to safely place the ships on the Continent’s shores instead of allowing them crash into the rocky cliffs…and much more.  These were miracles witnessed by thousands of Aen Seidhe. So, if he’d simply been writing mythical stories, he’d have been called out on it. But, there’s no evidence that he ever was.”

 

The witcher nodded his head. “Okay. That makes sense. Do you mind if I read it?”

 

“Of course not,” Lydial answered, before passing the tome to Evie, who passed it to Geralt.

 

After only a moment, they both heard a deep sigh coming from the witcher.

 

“I tried reading this book that first night in your cabin.  Couldn’t understand it then. Can’t understand it any better now in the light of day.  Can only make out every other word or so.”  He then handed the book back to Evie.

 

“Geralt, are you okay?” asked Evie.

 

He looked her in the eyes and then shook his head. “No. I’m not.”

 

“What’s wrong?”

 

“I honestly don’t know. I just feel…I don’t know…unsettled.”

 

“Can I help you? Do you want to talk?”

 

He shook his head again. “No. I think I just need to be alone with my thoughts for a while. Okay?”

 

“Okay. Just know that I’m here for you.”

 

Geralt nodded and then urged his mare into a canter.  Evie watched the witcher ride off down the trail, small clouds of dust stirred up by Roach’s hooves.

 

Lydial reached over and patted her granddaughter’s knee. “He’ll be okay. I’m going to pray for him. Would you like to join me?”

 

Evie nodded her head and grasped Lydial’s hand.

 

oOo

 

_Northern Redania_

 

            Philippa Eilhart sat in her castle at Montecalvo. Despite King Radovid’s best efforts to have the sorceress’ home razed to the ground, her magical protections, for the most part, had held off the attacks. At least they had held them off long enough for the soldiers and engineers to realize that they’d need a much greater arsenal to complete the job.  And since almost all of the Redanian military forces and weapons were needed at the war front, then demolishing the fortress just hadn’t been possible at the time.  Thus, Philippa sat in a partially damaged and dark castle, which, frankly, fit her mood after her most recent run-in with Malek at the Dol Blathanna palace.

 

            She sat behind a desk in her expansive, private study and library, but she wasn’t alone. Sitting on a small sofa across from her was Oran Eilhart - her older brother, fellow magic user, and the assassin known as the Ghost. His magical ability was a fraction of his sister’s, but given that Philippa was one of the most powerful magic users on the planet, that wasn’t anything for the typical mage to be embarrassed about. Virtually every mage’s power and ability paled in comparison to hers. However, because the clearly superior sorceress happened to be his little sister – two years his junior - then it did very little good for their already complicated relationship.

 

            Philippa and Oran had actually been close as kids, growing up together in a run-down cabin in the woods in northern Redania. It was cabin that she had, decades later, demolished and on whose former site now stood her current castle. Being pummeled by their drunken, widower father seemed to forge of bond of understanding and camaraderie between the two Eilhart children, and Oran had always done his best to step in between his father and his little sister when their father was in a crazed-state. But few pre-pubescent boys can stand up to a fully-grown man, and once Oran was beaten and tossed aside, there was nothing to stop Philippa from being next. Over time, the beatings became fewer and fewer, but not because Mr. Eilhart had learned to control his demons.  Firstly, the two had quickly learned to discern their father’s moods, to anticipate a beating coming on, and to hide in the woods until the next morning. But, secondly, and more disturbing, was the fact that Papa Eilhart had found other outlets for his pent-up rage – specifically, visits to young Philippa’s bed. Those nocturnal visits continued for a long time, until one night, Oran walked in on the two.  The next time his father passed out in a drunken stupor, twelve-year-old Oran drove a pair of pruning shears through his father’s throat. Then, he and Philippa tossed the body into the nearby river.

 

            The next night, ten-year old Philippa slipped into Oran’s bed, and she displayed her gratitude to her older sibling by showing him all the things that she’d learned from dearest dad.  Oran was disgusted and ashamed.  Not for what she had attempted to do, but because he’d let her. And for the next several months, he never stopped her. While Oran had always loved his little sister, he had discovered that he’d fallen in love with her, too.

 

            Eventually, a great aunt came and took them to live with her, and soon after both Eilhart children were sent off to their respective magical academies, though Oran hadn’t completed his education at Ban Ard. A few years later, they met up again, and Oran had hoped they could pick up where they’d left off.  But, his hopes were quickly dashed. The young woman in front of him, he had barely recognized, but not simply due to a change in physical appearance – though she had clearly transformed into a stunningly beautiful woman.  What he hadn’t recognized was the aloof, haughty sorceress who seemed to barely want to give him the time of day.  She had acted as if he was a bothersome stranger instead of the brother who had loved her and tried his best to protect her. When he’d proposed that they spend the night together, she’d rebuffed him with an arrogant laugh. Their relationship had been rocky and mostly non-existent ever since.

 

            “Okay, Sister. You got me here. So, what do you want? And make it quick. I’ve got a business to get back to.”

 

            “Oh, yes. Leading your merry band of cut-throats. Loan-sharking, extorting small-business owners, running street whores. Quite the entrepreneur that you’ve become.”

 

            “Go plough yourself. You think you’re so much better than me? Well, at least I’m not reviled by my entire country. Everyone knows you killed King Vizimir. Thanks for handing the kingdom over to his deranged kid, you scheming bitch.”

 

            “Charming, as always, Oran.”

 

            “Is this why you brought me here – just to mock me? You know what…you deserve what you got. Most Redanians just wish that you’d had more than your eyes gouged out.” Oran stood angrily, glaring at his sister. “I should have known better than to come here,” he snarled, turning towards the open doorway that led to the hall.  However, before he could get there, the doors slammed shut. He didn’t even bother trying to open them. He knew that he couldn’t overpower Philippa’s magic so he simply turned around and saw that she was now standing behind her desk.

 

            “I’m afraid that, as usual, we have gotten off to a poor start. Let me apologize.”

 

            Oran furrowed his brow on hearing that.

 

            “You’ve _never_ apologized to me – for _anything_. What exactly do you want, Philippa?” he asked with suspicion dripping from every word.

 

            The sorceress walked around her desk, sat on the sofa, and patted the cushion next to her.

 

            “For now, I’d just like for my big brother to come sit next to me. Let me show you how contrite I am,” she said with small smile.

 

            Oran stood still, staring at his sister – the one that he loathed and the one that he still loved.  He, eventually, walked towards the sofa, hating himself that she still had ahold of him.

 

oOo

 

            Tressa, sitting between Benny and Rien on the front seat of the second wagon, watched the witcher ride off by himself.  Despite traveling in his party for the last forty-eight hours, she wasn’t really any more comfortable around him now than when they’d first met. Of course, she could admit that first impressions were hard to overcome and that their first meeting had been a very rocky encounter. He had come to the castle to kill the monster…the man…that she loved. And even though he had spared Rien and even though he now seemed to be going out of his way to help all of them, she still didn’t trust him, for she couldn’t get that initial confrontation down in the dungeons out of her mind.

 

            “Benny, how long have you known the witcher?” she asked.

 

            “Oh…at least fifty years”

 

            “Are you two friends?”

 

            The mage scratched his chin and looked up. “Well…he’s not a typical friend, but yes, I’d consider us friends – at the least, friendly acquaintances.”

 

            “What do you mean by ‘typical?’”

 

            “The last time I saw him was almost a decade ago.  So, we’re not the type of friends that constantly stay in touch.  That’s what I mean. But I trust him with my life.”

 

            “What? How?” she asked incredulously.

 

            “Despite the myths about witchers, Geralt has a streak of goodness in him.”

 

 “But, he was going to let you – _his friend_ \- die in the dungeons. And he was going to kill Rien even though he’d only killed those men to protect us.  And, not only that, I’m pretty sure he was even willing to kill us – me and Lukas - to get to Rien. How can you say he’s good?”

 

            “I understand your point of view, but you’re only seeing one piece of the puzzle.”

 

            “What do you mean?”

 

            “Regardless of what people think, he tries to do the ‘right’ thing – at least, his definition of ‘right.’  And despite sometimes doing things – like killing – that other people find questionable, he has a certain honor about him. Remember – he tried to give Rien a chance to talk things out, right?”

 

            Tressa reluctantly nodded her head.         

 

            “And what you _didn’t_ see was him trying – twice – of talking me out of going into the Academy with him in the first place. He knew it was going to be potentially dangerous, and he didn’t want anything happening to me. But, I told him I was going anyway. So, I knew what I was getting into.”

 

            The teenage girl let her eyes drift out towards the horizon while she pondered what he had just said. Finally she had another question. “When Rien had you in his grasp, you told the witcher, ‘Do what you have to do.’ Did you really mean that?”

 

            Benny nodded and laughed. “I did.  I obviously didn’t want to die, but I also knew the situation, and I didn’t want Geralt to feel guilty if things turned sour.  He was down there, ultimately, because he was trying to save people he cared about, and like I said, he’d tried talking me out of going with him. So, it was my own fault that Rien got the jump on me.”

 

            Rien looked at Benny and nodded his head.

 

            “Let that be a lesson to you, Tressa.  Before you go into a dangerous situation, you’d better count the costs and calculate the risks. And, then, if you decide to go ahead a jump in anyway, then face the consequences with dignity.  Don’t whine and complain that you didn’t know what you were getting into.”

 

            At that point, Benny glanced at Rien, but the teenager girl’s eyes had drifted out towards the prairie around them and had missed his look.

 

            “So, you’re saying that he _really_ would have let you die and he _really_ would have killed us and Rien to save Evie?”

 

            “That, I don’t know. Perhaps, but now we’re dealing in hypotheticals.”

 

            “Well, that doesn’t make me trust him much – even if you do. How can I trust somebody who’d kill an innocent person just to get what he wants?”

 

            “That’s your right – not to trust him or like him, but I think you’re focusing too much on what he _might_ have done and not on what he actually _did_ do.  He tried talking me out of going with him because he was concerned with my safety; he _did_ give Rien a chance to parley; he could have easily cut you and Lukas down with his blade, but he simply used a Sign instead; and he _did_ spare Rien’s life, even though the entire purpose of going in there was to take his head. If you want to dislike him because he can be gruff and distant, so be it. But, you can’t dislike him for being a mindless killer who murders innocent teenagers– because _that,_ he clearly is not.”

 

            Tressa sighed. “Yeah, I suppose so.  So…he’s not dangerous?”

 

            Benny laughed again. “Oh, no.  He’s very dangerous. But, no more than the man you’re sitting next to right now…but you still trust him, right?”

           

            She looked at Rien and then looked back at Benny with a small smile. “I guess I see your point.”

 

oOo

 

            Geralt stood atop a small hill overlooking the road to Ard Carraigh.  Roach was by his side, munching on the thick, green grass that covered the rolling hill-country of central Kaedwen. There weren’t many trees around in that particular area so he could easily see the two-wagon caravan, about half a mile away, moving slowly westward. The discussion with Lydial had stirred up conflicting feelings, and his thoughts and emotions had become all jumbled in his head. He’d simply needed some time alone to sort them out.  He realized, then, that he hadn’t been alone in close to two weeks, and historically, being around too many people for too long – like a pebble in a shoe - would eventually irritate him to no end.

 

            As he stared at the front wagon carrying Evie, he kept reliving certain bits of the conversation in his mind.  Clearly, at one point, he’d gotten angry – angry that the Aen Seidhe had this knowledge of God that they’d kept hidden and private.  He thought of just how selfish they were to do that.  It’d be the equivalent of him stumbling upon a magical fountain that could heal all assortments of diseases and infirmities, and instead of going out and telling others of this amazing news, he’d simply kept it to himself.  He thought back to the time in his twenties when he’d spent so much energy investigating all the different gods of all the different cultures.  He wondered how different the last eighty years of his life would have been if some Aen Seidhe elf had simply told him of Essea back then. Of course, if God was truly all powerful, like Geralt hoped he was, then he had to admit that God, ultimately then, was in control of this, too.  He must have had some reason for not revealing himself to Geralt until now.  The witcher just didn’t understand it, and he wanted to.  He was tired of being confused, which is how he’d felt for the last few weeks. He felt as if his entire perspective on life had been turned upside down – the fact that he still hadn’t slept with Evie was just one of many, obvious examples.  In the past, he would have taken her to bed at the first opportunity.

 

            His anger at the Aen Seidhe had eventually dissipated, and it had been replaced by a sense of optimism as their discussion had continued.  And now, a half hour later, it was that hope that he was focused on. There was one line that Lydial had read to him that kept running through his mind, and it was that one line that led the witcher to do something that he’d never done in his one hundred years.  He prayed. He didn’t get on his knees. He didn’t even bow his head.  He simply closed his eyes, breathed in deeply, and after exhaling slowly, he spoke aloud.

 

            “God… ‘None who come to you will you ever turn away,’…right? So…here I am.  I’m convinced that you exist, but…I need clarity because I don’t know who you are. I’m starting to believe that you are Essea, but…I’m just not sure. I need…I need for you to reveal yourself to me…somehow…so that I can _know_.”

 

At that point, he paused for a long time.  Then, slowly, he opened his eyes and scanned the sky. Upon seeing nothing but clear skies dotted with some wispy clouds, a small smile came to his face.

 

“So, no lightning bolt or clap of thunder?” He nodded his head.  “Alright.”

 

After another deep breath, he closed his eyes again and finished. “I don’t know how to end one of these things so…I guess…thanks for listening.”

 

The witcher opened his eyes, and his head and eyes automatically drifted upward. He saw thin clouds gliding slowly across the bright blue skies, and then his gaze lowered to watch the high grass of the rolling plain swaying in the gentle wind. For the longest time, he remained motionless, just standing peacefully in the warm afternoon sun and calmly listening to the soft rustling sound of the breeze in his ears and sensing its refreshing touch on his face.  Eventually, he nodded slightly to himself, mounted Roach, and rode slowly down the subtle slope of the hill towards the caravan – to his love and to the rest of the motley crew of outcasts and orphans.

 

 


	6. Chapter 6

_Redania_

 

Vernon Roche was a long way from home and - he thought to himself - a long time from home, as well.  Though, truth be told, the commander of the Blue Stripes - the disbanded special forces unit of the Temerian military turned freedom fighters - wasn’t even sure where his home was anymore.  Both the government and military of Temeria no longer existed, and his homeland was caught between two titanic powers - Nilfgaard and Redania.  He doubted there would be much left of the kingdom except for scraps after those two empires were done raping, pillaging, and – sometime in the future – using it as a bargaining piece in diplomatic negotiations. Still, despite the hopeless outlook, he fought on. The career soldier simply didn’t know what else to do with his life.

 

Roche and his roughly two-dozen soldiers were all strategically placed either in or around the capital city of Tretogor.  And they’d been there for over a year.  Ever since the failed assassination attempt against Radovid the previous summer in Novigrad, the Redanian king had holed up in his palace and had not been seen out of it since. Roche didn’t think it possible, but the man had become even more paranoid since then – rightly so, Roche could admit.  That said, in the last year, the Temerian had managed to get two of Radovid’s palace workers on his payroll as spies, but they were strictly of the type to gather intelligence. If Radovid was to eventually fall to an assassin’s plot, then Roche would either have to find a way into the royal palace himself or somehow catch the monarch when he eventually left the safety his home.

 

The commander heard rustling coming from behind him and turned to see his second in command, Ves, crouched down and walking towards him in his camouflaged observation post. He knew it must be important for Ves to be there in person.

 

“What is it?” asked Roche

 

“A platoon of men – about twenty – just left the back gate of the palace. They headed west on that back road directly towards Kaedwen.”

 

“Were they flying the king’s banner?”

 

“No, but that doesn’t mean anything. If Radovid is with them, he’s too smart to advertise his presence.”

 

Roche didn’t say anything for a moment, assessing the situation.

 

“If he is with them, then what are they doing heading to Kaedwen? The war front is south,” said Ves, interrupting his thoughts by stating the obvious.

 

Roche shook his head.

“It could be nothing, but…take three men and follow them… _at a distance_.  Just _observe_ them. Do not engage. Understand, Ves?” he commanded to his reckless lieutenant.

 

She smiled. “Right-o.”

 

oOo

_Central Kaedwen_

 

“Renewal comes from the destroyer.  Order from the wild. Of the same father, but not belonging.  A lover of death, rebirth will come through him.  Twisted yet straight, esteemed yet reviled, virgin yet marred. By his right hand, the world will be cleansed through the rod of Apophis.”

 

            Evie had just repeated the prophecy in the tome on her brother’s request.

 

“Geralt, I’ve never asked you. What do you think about it?” asked Barcain in a whisper.

 

            “It’s nonsense,” he replied, leaning forward and throwing a piece of deadwood on the small campfire, causing a few glowing embers to float upward into the night sky. 

 

Several hours before, the group had made camp for the evening.  Even though they were only a mile south of Ard Carraigh, the witcher had decided against looking for lodging in town. He was leery of venturing into the city unless there was an absolute need.  What their excursion into Ban Ard had almost caused was still very fresh in his mind.

 

            The orphans – most of them already asleep – were either in, under, or around one of the wagons on the other side of the campfire.  In the back of the second wagon, Benny, Rien, and Gretel were sitting with Nikolai, who was in magical stasis from some of Benny’s potent elixirs. Even though the mage’s potions had worked perfectly the first two nights, everybody felt safer if either he or Rien stayed with him throughout the evening.  Thus, that left the witcher, Evie, Lydial, and Barcain sitting by themselves, and eventually the former soldier brought up the prophecy regarding the rod of Apophis.

 

            “Why do you think that? You don’t believe in prophecies?”

 

            Geralt shook his head.  “Prophecies are only valuable in hindsight, for the historians.” This produced a smirk and a playful nudge of the elbow from Evie.  “I’ve got personal experience with them so I _know_ that they don’t all come true.  And even with the ones that do, it’s usually in some ridiculously alternate way that no one ever expected.  So…this prophecy serves no practical purpose for me.  It’s not going to affect my decisions one bit.  Think about it. This person that’s going to wield the rod and restore order – whatever that means exactly – is apparently…a virgin?  Well, that right there excludes us and just about everyone on the Continent over the age of twelve.  That, or ‘virgin’ actually has a different meaning that what it normally means.  Either way, how does that affect us or our ability to find this thing? I say, not at all.”

 

            Barcain nodded his head. “Yeah, why _are_ prophecies always so vague, with multiple meanings?”

 

            “Hell if I know. Ask the Professor,” he said, tilting his head at Evie, who was snuggled next to him.

 

            She smiled. “Well, I don’t know either. It’s not like I’ve ever made one.  I just study them…and I find them fascinating.”

 

            “Maybe they are…but that still doesn’t make them practical,” retorted Geralt.

           

            “But, they could be,” piped up Lydial.

 

            “How so?” asked Geralt.

 

            “What if Essea decided to speak through a prophet and gave him a prophetic word or vision about some future event.   Let’s say that he told him the specific day that you’d die and that, after you died, he was going to take you to live with him in heaven.  I’d argue that that kind of knowledge would be _very_ practical. It would or _should_ completely change the way you’d live out the rest of your life.”

 

            “That’d depend,” argued Geralt.

 

            “On what?”

 

            “Couple of things. Is the prophecy clear? Because they’re only practical if they’re clear.  If you can’t understand them, they’re pointless.  Also, they’re only practical if you _know_ that they’ll come true, and that all depends on the origin of the prophecy.  Can I trust the person who gave the prophecy?  Is it just the ramblings from some mad man, or is it _actually_ from God?  Because if it’s from an all-powerful, all-good God – from a God whose plans can’t be thwarted and from a God who can’t lie – then that prophecy is no longer a prophecy.”

 

            “What is it then?”

 

            “A promise. An unbreakable guarantee.  And that’s something I _can_ trust in. _That’s_ practical.”

 

            The conversation stopped when everyone saw Benny walking with his cane towards the campfire.

 

            “How is he?” asked Lydial.

 

            “Stable,” answered the mage, sitting down next to the others.

 

            “I’ve noticed Gretel has been spending a lot of time with him,” remarked Evie.

 

            “Yeah, she’s been a great help. During the day, she coaxes water down him, moves his arms and legs about to keep his joints and muscles loose, wipes the sweat and dust from his face. She’s really looking after him.”

 

            “Has anyone noticed that she seems a lot more comfortable around Nikolai and the kids than around us?” Evie asked.

 

            Lydial nodded. “Well, she’s not much older than they are. Probably has more in common with them.”

 

            “It’s more than that,” said Benny. “I think she prefers their company because…it’s like a clean-slate with them…since they aren’t aware of her past profession.  I get the feeling she’s embarrassed by it. Thinks we look down on her for it.  And…I don’t think she wants to go back to it. She was dropping obvious hints today about her desire not to leave us in Ard Carraigh.  I think, maybe, she’s found a purpose in our weird, little group – looking after Nikolai and the younger ones.”

 

            Evie looked up at Geralt. “Could she go with them?”

 

            When he didn’t immediately respond, she whispered, “Please, Geralt. This could be a new start for her.”

 

            He looked into Evie’s pleading eyes for several moments, and then he eventually sighed.

 

“Damn it,” he said, shaking his head. “I can just imagine what Vesemir would say.” He sighed again. “Alright, why not? What’s one more?”

 

            “Great! I’ll go tell her now,” said Benny, getting to his feet.

 

            Geralt felt Evie hug him tighter, and then, suddenly, she leaned up close to his ear.

 

            “Come with me,” she said as she grabbed his hand and started getting to her feet.

 

            She took off at a fast walk, and once they were out of the campsite, she started running. Geralt stayed beside her, holding her hand the entire time.  She laughed as they ran through a small orchard, the light of the full moon illuminating the way.  Finally, she stopped in the middle of a group of fruit trees. In the moonlight, their white flowers shone like silver.  She turned and peered into his eyes, a large smile on her face. She was breathing heavy and her heart was beating rapidly but not just from the run. As she continued looking into her witcher’s face, her smile suddenly disappeared, replaced by a serious look.  She lifted her right hand and, with her fingertips, traced his scar down his cheek. She then reached down and grasped both of his hands in hers.

 

            “I love you, Geralt of Rivia,” she said softly.

 

            A look of confusion immediately came to the witcher’s face.

 

“What?” he asked, shaking his head.  “Why?”

 

            “Because of your heart and your kindness…because you deserve it…because you love me.”

 

            He didn’t say anything for a moment. He just stared into her beautiful, dark eyes.  He finally nodded.

 

            “I do. I do love you,” he said with almost a sound of surprise in his voice. And then a smile came to his face. “I love you, Evie,” he declared again, that time with absolute conviction.

 

oOo

 

_Vizima, Temeria_

 

            Malek and Fringilla stood together, fully dressed, in her bedchamber. She was wearing her normal attire – an elegant dress that showed off her remarkable figure and the unpretentious but clearly expensive jewelry adorning her ears, fingers, and neck.  He, on the other hand, wore the clothes of a commoner and not his typical armor, which made sense given that he was planning to sneak across the Pontar River and into enemy territory.

 

            “Do you have to leave right now?” she asked.

 

            “I’ve got my orders from Emhyr, and Timataal and Delkith are finally fully healed from Philippa’s attack…so it’s time to go.”

 

            “Where are you headed?”

 

            “Kaedwen.”

 

            “How do you know that they’re there? Your spy network?”

 

            Malek shook his head.

 

“No…that’s actually been quiet for several days. It’s just an educated guess.  Kaedwen is the most logical place that they’d be.”

 

            The sorceress craned her neck to look up into his face while reaching out to grasp his hand.

 

            “Let me come with you. You could use a sorceress.”

 

            Malek stood still and quiet for a long time, during which Fringilla said nothing else. Eventually, the soldier nodded.

 

            “You are… _useful_.”

 

            The sorceress smiled. “Indeed I am. I knew that you’d see reason. Tell me the location, and I’ll open a portal.”

 

            Malek shook his head. “No. My men and I need our horses _and_ the gear that’s on them. And I’ve never seen anyone able to coax a horse even near, much less through, a portal.  Looks like you’ll have to ride with us if you want to tag along,” he finished with a small smirk.

 

            “Ugh. How about this?” propositioned the witch. “You just tell me where to meet you, and I’ll teleport there.”

 

            “Don’t like riding horses?”

 

            Fringilla simply shrugged. “I’ve simply never had to. Why bother when there’s magic?”

 

            “Makes sense,” he said before telling her where he and his men were headed.

 

            “Meet you there in two days?” she asked.

 

            He nodded. “We should arrive within three days at the latest – _if_ things go smoothly.”

 

            The sorceress then batted her eyelashes and said seductively, “I’ll miss you. My bed will be so lonely without you.”

 

            After a pause, Malek smiled, reached down, cupped her butt with both hands, and pulled her upward. She let out a small gasp and then instinctively wrapped both her arms and legs around him.

 

“Yeah, I’ll miss you, too, Fringilla,” he responded before kissing her deeply.

 

The sorceress had a smile on her face as Malek said his goodbyes, but it disappeared the moment he turned and left the room.

 

She smoothed down her ruffled clothes, checked her make-up and hair in a nearby mirror on the wall, and then promptly opened a portal.

 

Ten minutes later, the magically-exhausted sorceress walked out of her fourth portal and into a large, garden-like courtyard of a lavish estate situated in the capital city of Nilfgaard. She knew that it’d be at least an hour before she could perform another spell. Teleporting halfway across the Continent always drained her magically. Her eyes immediately found those of a blond-haired man wearing the height of fashion.  She began walking towards him, and he presented his hand as she approached. She placed her hand in his, at which point he bowed and kissed hers lightly just below the knuckles.

 

“Ravishing, as ever, Fringilla,” said Donato Vigo, staring into the sorceress’ eyes as he raised himself back to full height.

 

Fringilla’s face remained stoic. “Thank you… _cousin_ ,” she replied, as she took a seat. Next to the bench was a small table holding a tray of food and drinks.  She thankfully reached for some cheese and wine.

 

Donato smiled. “I’m not sure why you always bring that up.  Our kinship is quite distant. No one would frown upon us having a relationship.”

 

“Except your wife, perhaps?”

 

His smile grew wider. “Yes, perhaps her.” Then, his smile faded.

 

“So, how goes it with Malek?”

 

“It’s progressing.”

 

“Which means he still hasn’t told you what he and Emhyr are searching for.”

 

“No, but it’s a matter of time. He’s been disclosing more and more.”  Then, she informed her cousin that she’d been invited on the mission.

 

“Excellent. Just make sure – whatever it is – that Emhyr never lays hold of it.  If all goes to plan, the White Flame will be snuffed out by the end of the summer, and a new era will begin. A new era for both of us.”

 

Fringilla sighed deeply.  Donato had contacted her months ago and had confided to her his knowledge of and his participation in a plot to unseat Emhyr.  Initially, he’d only done it as a warning for his favorite cousin, to make sure she wasn’t a part of any collateral damage from the overthrow.  Eventually, over time, she began to inform Donato of any inner dealings of the royal court to which she became privy. For her part in thwarting Emhyr’s plan and in aiding the usurpers, she’d been promised the throne of Toussaint, the duchy where her cousin, Anna Henrietta, had ruled up until her recent assassination. She had died without children, which complicated the line of succession, and almost a year later, the throne still sat empty.

 

“Since when did we become traitors, Donato?”

 

“We’re not traitors, Gilla.  We’re patriots. Emhyr is running this great Empire into the ground. Every year that this pointless war continues, the infrastructure here at home weakens more and more. We don’t have to conquer the world through war. It can be – and _should_ be - done through commerce and trade. If all the resources, money, and man-power that were used on his war machine were directed toward technology and innovations…if we simply become the best and most efficient producers of goods on the Continent, we could rule the northern kingdoms without ever having to shed blood.  Remember, the country with the strongest economy rules the world.”

 

“Yes, yes, I’ve heard all this from you before,” she retorted. “So, why does is still feel like treason?”

 

“Because you’ve been taught to respect the office regardless of who’s in it, but what if the one holding office isn’t worth respecting?  Are we just supposed to sit back and watch him destroy this great nation?  It’s not treason, Gilla. It’s a revolution…against a tyrant.”

 

Fringilla sighed again. “I hope you’re right, Donato.”

 

oOo

 

            Geralt was running frantically under the full moon, his eyes quickly scanning his surroundings and peering closely into the shadows cast by the large boulders. The night air was eerily quiet.  All he could hear was his own rapid breathing and the sound of his boots crunching the hard soil. But, he kept running…he had to find her, and the more he ran, the more that the fear overwhelmed him, making him run even faster. And, then, suddenly, he stopped. Up ahead, he saw a body on the ground. He took a tentative step forward and then another, until he was running again. He came to a halt a few feet from the body, lying face down on the rocky plain. He had to see if it was her, but he was also too afraid to find out. Finally, he took two more steps forward, bent down, and slowly rolled the body over.  He saw Evie’s face, with her eyes closed. It looked like she was sleeping. Suddenly, she opened her eyes to reveal empty eye-sockets, out of which crawled maggots and flies.

 

            “Save me, Geralt!” Evie shouted.

 

As thick, black snakes emerged from the ground, he reached for his sword, but it turned to dust in his hand. The ground opened up, and Evie was dragged downward, all the while screaming, “Save me, Geralt, save me! Don’t let me die.”

 

“No!” he yelled.

 

oOo

 

The witcher rose up quickly with a gasp. Sweat was pouring from his body, and he was breathing fast.

 

“It’s okay, Geralt. It was just a nightmare. It’s over,” said Evie as she reached out to hold him. He immediately pulled her into his arms. She could feel his heart pounding in his chest.

 

They were both sitting up on a blanket in the middle of the orchard. After their mutual declarations of love earlier, they’d decided that they wanted to spend some quality, intimate time alone – away from the others. Geralt had returned from the campsite with a blanket, and they had lain together on it, the full moon reflecting off of the nearby Maranatha River. They had spent hours just talking, kissing, and holding each other. Evie had eventually fallen asleep in his arms, and not long after, the witcher had, for the first time in a year, let himself do the same.

 

The witcher’s breathing was slowing down, but he was still holding Evie tightly in his arms.

 

“I thought that I’d lost you,” he whispered in her ear.

 

“I’m right here,” she whispered back. “I’ve got you…and you’ve got me.”

 

“I don’t want to let go,” he said, kissing her lightly on the skin in front of her ear.

 

“You don’t have to...ever.  I don’t want you to.” She kissed him back.

 

“Ever?”

 

He could feel her slightly nodding her head against his. “Forever.”

 

            Geralt finally loosened his grip and pulled his head back so that they could look into each other’s eyes.

 

            “Marry me.”

 

            “What?” she half asked, half gasped.

 

            “I want you to be my wife.”

 

            “Geralt! You can’t be serious.”

 

            He nodded his head, staring into her eyes.  “I’ve never been more sure of anything in my life.”

 

            “But, Geralt, we’ve known each other _three weeks_ …Is this because you had some bad dream?”

 

            The witcher shook his head. “No. It’s because I love you…and because…let’s be honest, we’re going on a very dangerous mission.  Hell, how many times have we almost died just since we met?  So, I want every day that I have left – however many that may be – with you as my wife. So…Evie…will you marry me?” he asked, his heart thumping so loud he could feel it in his ears.

 

            She didn’t say anything, but the witcher could see tears welling up in her eyes. As he looked at her, he suddenly found it almost impossible to breathe, his breath catching in his throat. He tried to swallow, but he discovered that that once simple act had become difficult to do, as well. Finally, she nodded her head, and the tears ran down her cheeks.

 

            “Is that a yes?” he asked, holding his breath.

 

            “Yes, Geralt. It’s a yes.”

 

            The air rushed from his lungs, and he immediately pulled her close. And, suddenly, a thousand thoughts and emotions were running through the witcher’s mind.  He felt like he’d just taken a leap off the tallest of mountains - a mix of total exhilaration and a thought of, _“What did I just do?”_

 

            Then, he was quickly awash with feelings of gratitude and amazement.

 

            _“Unbelievable,” he thought. “She actually wants to marry me…me.”_

 

But, through the swirl of emotions, what he eventually felt more than anything else was a strange yet comforting sense of overwhelming wholeness.  

 

            “ _She’s going to be my wife. She loves me so much that she actually wants to be my wife.”_

And he just rested in that thought as he continued to hold her in his arms. Eventually, he pulled away from her just far enough so that he could look into her eyes. He shook his head slightly, still utterly amazed by not only his question but also her answer.

“Thank you, Evie.”

But before she could respond, he slowly leaned in and brought her lips to his.

 

It was a long time later before they finally stopped kissing. Still sprawled out on the blanket and breathing heavily, Evie looked into her fiancé’s eyes and said with a smile, “But I don’t have a dress.”

 

            The witcher smiled back. “Oh, yes you do.” And then he quickly got up from the blanket.

 

            Five minutes later, Geralt was standing in front of Evie. He had one hand behind his back, and he’d just given her a torch to hold.

 

            After lighting the torch for her, he said, “Hold it off to one side. I’d hate for your surprise to get burned.”

           

            He then revealed the dress to his betrothed.

 

            “Oh, Geralt. It’s gorgeous. Whose is it?”

 

            The witcher had a confused look on his face. “What do you mean? It’s _yours_.”

 

            “No. I mean, whose was it _before_?”

 

            “No one’s. Nobody’s ever worn it.”

 

            “What? Then, why do you have it?”

 

            He smiled. “Remember in Ban Ard when you spent _several_ hours in the boutiques looking for the perfect clothes for Lydial and Barcain?  Well, while you were off becoming best friends with every salesperson, I saw this. I thought that you’d look pretty in it so…I was going to surprise you with it.” Then his smile widened. “Who knew that it’d be your wedding dress?”

 

            Evie was shaking her head. “You’re already the best husband ever,” she said with a beaming smile.

 

oOo

 

“I give this to you as a sign of my commitment,” declared the witcher. He had just lifted the chain of his wolf-head medallion over his head – making Evie gasp - and he was holding it in front of him, about to put it around her neck. As he was lifting his hands upward, she reached out with her own and stopped him.

 

“Geralt, you can’t,” she whispered.

 

He nodded. “I can…and I will.”

 

“But, Geralt -”

 

“Evie,” he interrupted. “This really isn’t the time to argue about this…right?” He asked with a smile, nodding his head and shifting his eyes to his left at everyone gathered in front of them before looking back at her. It was a couple of hours before sunset, and Geralt and Evie – along with everyone but Nikolai - were standing in the same meadow where the witcher had proposed to the historian the night before.  

 

That morning, after Evie had seen the meadow in the sunlight, she had decided that she wanted to get married there, for she thought that it was even more charming in the light of day.  She had then, immediately, headed to the campsite and shared the joyful news with everyone there.  After conferring with Lydial for a bit, she announced that the two of them needed to go into Ard Carraigh for the day. When Geralt said that he’d accompany them, Evie quickly informed him that that was out of the question. However, like any good couple, they’d eventually compromised, agreeing that Benny and Barcain would act as the ladies’ escorts.

 

While they were gone, Geralt had headed to the river to bathe, shave, and clean his armor – perhaps better than he’d done so in years. Afterwards, he had walked up the gentle slope to the meadow which contained the small cluster of fruit trees. As he watched the cool breeze blowing through branches covered in white blossoms and a few butterflies gliding about, he knelt down, having decided to meditate and enjoy the solitude.  But, he just hadn’t been able to slow his mind down no matter what he tried. Thoughts of Evie, his nightmare, Ciri, and Essea all blew through his mind like a whirlwind. Finally, he admitted that, at that point in time, meditation was a lost cause so he just decided that he’d give talking to God another go instead. He spoke about his hopes for him and Evie. He spoke about the nightmare from the previous evening and the fears he had about losing her. And he spoke about his sadness that Ciri wasn’t around to see this happy day. Sadness that he’d never get to see her get married and start a family of her own, either. To his surprise, just as it had done the previous afternoon, though he’d received no answers from God, the act of praying had brought him much needed peace.  And he still felt that peace as he stood in front of his bride.

 

Evie smiled back at her husband. “Right. We’ve got a honeymoon to begin.”

 

Geralt, with a smile, then placed the chain over her neck, and his eyes drifted downward to see his wolf-head medallion coming to rest on the sapphire-blue, light cotton fabric of her wedding dress. He, once again, soaked in what she was wearing. Intricate embroidery was stitched along a modest, scooped neckline, but the dress just barely covered her shoulders, leaving her neck and collar bones completely exposed. The bodice clung very tightly, showing off her curves, but once the dress reached the hips, its material loosened slightly and flared downward towards her feet.  The sleeves were made of a very light, gossamer fabric that fluttered in the breeze, and the final touch was a ribbon-like belt, dotted with tiny, fake pearls, that wrapped around her waist and tied in front, the long ends hanging down towards mid-thigh.

 

He lifted his eyes back up to hers and she could see the love within.

 

“Beautiful,” he said.

 

oOo

 

            Evie and Lydial’s morning had been full of activities.  First, a stop at the hairdressers for a professional styling and cut to fix the amateur job done in the Blue Mountains above Ban Ard.  Then, after an early lunch, they visited several shops until Evie had finally found the wedding gifts that she wanted for her husband-to-be.  As they headed out of town, she stopped and rented a room at a bed and breakfast located on the outskirts of the city, from which she could actually see the small orchard where she’d be marrying later in the day.  There, she bathed, shaved, and rubbed some just-purchased, vanilla-scented lotion over her body to make it soft and pleasant for Geralt later that night.

 

            It was in that same, rented room that Geralt and Evie stood just inches apart, less than an hour after their wedding. They stared into each other’s eyes and had small, joyful, expectant smiles on their faces. She then slowly turned around, revealing the buttons on the back of the dress.  He pressed his body into hers and then bent down to kiss her at the point where the neck and shoulder met. He slowly worked his way up towards her ear, and she shivered from the sensation.  Eventually, the witcher got around to unbuttoning the dress and then slowly turned her body to face him again. He reached up his hands and gently pulled the dress off of Evie’s shoulders.  As he continued to pull the dress downward, she helped him by shifting her body from side to side until it finally fell from her bare breasts, slid past her hips, and pooled on the floor around her ankles.  

 

She stood completely naked in front of Geralt but felt absolutely no shame. He was her husband, and she was completely his. She saw his eyes slowly roaming over her entire body. She could see the deep desire within, and it thrilled her.  Just watching him looking at her was making her body respond. Seeing her in that state caused Geralt to start undressing quickly. With her help, he was soon naked, as well. She looked down, and a big smile spread across her face. She reached forward and caressed him.

 

            “Looks like you don’t need any of Benny’s magic potions.”

 

            “No, but I should’ve brought a vial…just in case you wear me out.”

 

            “Plan on it.”

 

            While kissing and touching one another, they moved over to the bed where Geralt lay Evie down. He was planning on taking his time and gladly giving her all the foreplay that she wanted, but she made it clear that she didn’t want any of that. 

 

            “I want you…right now,” she got out between heavy breathing. 

 

Geralt didn’t need to be told twice so, moments later, the husband and wife became one and as close to perfectly intimate as it was possible for two flawed humans to be.

 

            The first time, neither had lasted incredibly long. It had been over a year since the witcher had last had sex and even longer than that for Evie. But, neither minded. They held each other tightly afterward. They made the silly jokes that only two lovers ever find amusing. They fondly recalled their days together in the mountains above Tarsus and how they’d first started falling in love with each other then. They simply cuddled together in bed and enjoyed continuing to connect emotionally and spiritually. It was a connection that had been present well before they’d ever had sex, and it had only deepened because of it.

 

            “Do you regret waiting?” the witcher asked his wife. “We could have been doing this for the last couple of weeks.”

 

            “Not at all,” she answered. “I’m so glad we did. This feels… _right_. I can’t even imagine it being more perfect.”

 

            Geralt nodded his head and then gave a small laugh. “Yeah, maybe God knows what he’s talking about after all.  Guess I should keep listening to him.”

 

            “Oh…that reminds me!” she said as she quickly got out of bed.

 

            “Not that I mind the view, but where are you going, wife?”

 

            Suddenly, Evie stopped and turned around with a smile.  “Say that again.”

 

            The witcher smiled back. “Come back to bed, my beautiful, kind, intelligent, sexy, honorable _wife_.”

 

            “Okay. Just a second… _husband_.”

 

            She grabbed something out of a bag by the dresser and returned to bed, holding it behind her back.  Geralt sat up and leaned back against the headboard.  Evie hopped into bed and straddled her husband.

 

            “Close your eyes.”

 

            He obeyed, and then seconds later she said that he could look. He opened his eyes to see what appeared to be a book, though there was no title on the front or the spine.  Whatever it was, it looked costly given its expensive, leather-bound cover.  He untied the simple bow that was keeping it closed and then opened it in the middle. As he flipped through it, he furrowed his brow on seeing nothing but blank pages.

 

            “Uh…Evie…what is this?”

 

            “My wedding gift to you.”

 

            “An empty book?”

 

            “For now.”

 

            “What am I supposed to do with it?”

 

            “Well, after I translate the Essean tome into Common for you, you’re supposed to read it.”

           

            The witcher’s face had a look of bewilderment on it.

 

            “How did…how did you know that’s what I wanted?”

 

            Evie smiled at her lover. “Because I know you.”

 

            He shook his head in amazement. “And you love me anyway.”

 

            Evie nodded. “With everything I have.”

 

            He placed the book on the bedside table and then swiftly and effortlessly flipped Evie onto her back.  She could see the passion on his face.

 

            Looking down into her eyes, he said, “That’s the best gift you could have ever given me. Now…let me show you how grateful I am.”

 

            Evie wasn’t sure if the “gift” he was referring to was the book or her love, but at that point, she didn’t really care.

 

oOo

 

            Geralt felt incredibly rested. For the first time in over a year, his sleep the previous evening had been free from any nightmares.  Evie, however, couldn’t stop yawning. While a couple of hours of sleep or meditation may have been sufficient for a witcher, it wasn’t enough for her. Not that she was complaining. She knew that she and her husband – along with the rest of their gang – would continue with their journey this morning. Therefore, it could, potentially, be a while before the newlyweds could have a repeat performance of the night before.  They were both dressed and packed and heading for the door of their room when Evie halted her witcher.

 

            “Geralt, wait.”

 

            “What is it?”

 

            Evie walked up to him and kissed him before saying, “This is our first morning as husband and wife. The first of many, I hope.  To commemorate it, I got you something.”

 

            With that, she presented her hand, palm up. On it, rested a brand-new pipe. He looked into her eyes and smiled warmly. 

 

            “Thank you,” he stated before taking it from her.

 

            “The style is called a ‘Diplomat,’’’ she informed him. “Which I thought was appropriate for you.”

 

            “Are you busting my chops?”

 

            “No. I’m serious. The rest of the world may find it ironic since they view you as a mindless killer, but I know you. I know that you’d rather complete a contract through talking and curse-breaking than by slaughter. So…I thought it was the perfect pipe for you,” she finished, smiling.

 

            The witcher then inspected his new gift. This was no corncob or cheap clay pipe.  In fact, it was the prettiest pipe he’d ever seen. The bowl and shank were dark brown and carried a smooth finish. It looked like a traditional “apple-style” pipe except its stem was slightly curved instead of straight. Then, looking closer, Geralt saw tiny markings etched into the sides of the pipe – on the bowl, shank, and stem.  He pulled it closer to his face, his eyes growing wide at what he saw.

 

            “What the hell?” he said to himself. “Evie, are these runes?”

 

            She nodded.  “They are. The salesman said they’d make for ‘an overall _superior_ smoking experience.’” She said the last with a snooty, aristocratic accent. “Let’s see…they’re supposed to keep the bowl cool but the chamber hot. Remove excess moisture. He also said that the runes make the material both stronger and heat resistance. He said it’d be next to impossible for the bowl to crack or the stem to break.”

 

            Looking closely at the runes, Geralt then noticed another etching on the bottom of the bowl. At first, he thought it was another rune, but then, he saw that it was a carving of a tiny butterfly. When he realized what it was, he looked up at Evie. 

 

            “Evie, this pipe was crafted by Le Papillon,” he stated incredulously.

 

            She nodded. “Yeah, that’s what the shop keeper said.”

 

            “Evie, you don’t understand. He’s one of the best. Do you know how much his pipes cost?”

           

             She laughed. “Yes, Geralt. I am _quite aware_ of what it cost.”

 

            The witcher was shaking his head. “Evie…it’s too much.”

 

            She suddenly got a serious look on her face. “No, it’s not, Geralt. Nothing is too good for you. Do you hear me?”

 

            Geralt didn’t say anything. He just looked into his wife’s beautiful, kind, and fierce face, and he felt something catch in his throat. He didn’t know what he’d done to deserve her, to deserve her love.  And he realized, then, that she wasn’t just his wife. She was his best friend and his biggest fan. He’d never had anyone support and encourage him as much as she did, and he was completely amazed by it all. Eventually, he nodded his head slightly at her.

 

            “Okay,” he said, finally.

 

            She smiled warmly at him before pulling him into a hug.

 

            “Tonight, we can sit under the stars, and you can smoke your pipe and recite your poetry to me. No! Even better – you can write a poem for me. About our love.”  As she broke the hug, he could clearly see the mirth on her face.

 

            “Whatever you want, wife. Whatever you want.”

 

 

 


	7. Chapter 7

_Southwestern Kaedwen_

Ves, like a good soldier, was following Roche’s orders and simply observing from a distance, but after almost two full days, she’s was getting bored.  She and her men had eventually caught up with the Redanian platoon and followed them at a distance. Radovid’s troops had headed north once they hit the Rinde-to-Daevon road, and they continued in the northeast direction until they reached the narrow pass in the southern part of the Kestral Mountains.  Once there, they dispersed up into the mountains above the road. Ves and her crew had climbed even higher into the mountains to get a clear view of the enemy below.  A third of the Redanian soldiers were hidden behind rocks and shrubs in the middle of the pass, with the other two-thirds divided equally on each end.  For Ves, who had conducted numerous ambushes in her day, it was easy to see what the troops were planning. However, it was two days later and the Redanians had still not attacked any of the travelers.  On several occasions, Radovid’s men did come down out of the mountains when they saw a single wagon approaching from Daevon, and after the wagon entered the pass, the group at the entrance would come down out of the mountain to cut off a retreat while the other two groups would descend the hill to stop the wagon’s forward progress.  However, each time, the troops let the wagons continue on their journey after less than a five-minute inspection.  She was, frankly, getting very fidgety and was contemplating doing something reckless when fate stepped in.

 

            Private Kowalski had the runs. He had eaten some kind of grilled rodent the night before even though it had smelled a little off.  It was either that or go hungry, he’d thought at the time. But, now, he’d prefer hunger pains.  All morning long, he’d been breaking wind, which was quite typical in any military setting given that they were always full of men. However, this gas smelled absolutely rancid, which was causing the soldiers hunkered down on either side of him to give him some particularly angry glares.

 

            “For the love of Lebioda, Kowalski, will you go take a shit and give us some relief,” his corporal finally ordered.

 

            “Yes, sir,” he finally got out between groans.

 

            “And Kowalski,” continued his superior officer.

 

            “Yes, sir?”

 

            “Someplace far away.”

 

            Kowalski headed up the mountain as carefully as he could, stepping very gingerly as he climbed.  However, with each step, he seemed to be jarring things loose and the pressure was becoming unbearable.

 

            “Oh, no, no, no,” he pleaded with himself.

 

            He’d traveled about fifty feet which, in his current state, he figured was as far as he was going to get.  He saw a large boulder up ahead and duck-walked that way.  Once he was around it, he immediately dropped his trousers and let loose.  With all of his moaning and groaning, he never heard the soft steps of the former Blue Stripes commandos approaching. He let out a long sigh of relief and opened his eyes to see four crossbows pointed at his head.

 

            “Don’t make a move. Don’t make a sound,” ordered Ves in a whisper.   

 

             After the soldier was bound and sitting downwind, Ves interrogated Kowalski. At one point, her eyes went wide with surprise upon hearing the soldier mention a certain name – Geralt of Rivia.  She looked around the mountainside, noticing the vast number of boulders and large rocks lying about, and then she and her men came up with a plan.

 

oOo

 

            Malek was in a hurry.  With the Redanian army fully present and entrenched along the Pontar River, it had taken him and his men longer than expected to find a place where they could cross over undetected.  They were in eastern Redania and riding hard to the north, towards the Kestral Pass just west of the Kaedweni city of Daevon.  He had been through that pass numerous times in his life and knew it was an ideal place for an ambush.  He didn’t know for sure if his niece and her friends would be using the pass to enter Redania – his spy network had not given him that information - but given that he only had a handful of men riding with him, he simply didn’t have the manpower to set up ambushes in multiple locations.

 

            As the disguised Nilfgaardians approached the pass, they were a bit surprised by what they saw.  It appeared that a large rockslide had recently occurred because boulders and rock were strewn over much of the road, the dust still lingering in the air. But, that wasn’t what caught Malek’s attention the most.  There was a dozen or more Redanian soldiers crouched down behind cover with their backs to the road.  High above them was an indeterminate number of attackers raining down crossbow bolts and arrows.

 

            Malek gave the signal for his men to halt.  He sat in the saddle taking in the spectacle in front of him, his mind running quickly through his different options. As his eyes continued to scan the battle, Fringilla’s question popped into his mind – just where did his loyalties lie - with the Emperor or with the Empire? Was it even possible to separate the two? His specific mission – given to him by the Emperor – had been to locate his niece and the sword, and getting involved in this skirmish would not further that particular mission.  However, Malek understood that the Empire’s overall objective was to ultimately defeat Radovid and his forces.  And here was a chance to capture or kill many of his soldiers.  He didn’t know the identity of those higher up in the mountains who were attacking the Redanian troops below, but for at least that moment, he considered any enemy of Radovid to be an ally. 

 

            “Your orders?” asked Timataal, instinctively knowing what was going through his friend’s head.

 

            Drawing his sword from its scabbard, Malek turned to his men and answered, “Attack the Redanians.”

 

oOo

 

 

            The two-wagon caravan went around – instead of through - Ard Carraigh, and then, two days after the wedding, they came to a fork in the main road, branching into three directions. The smallest road headed northwest and would eventually head all the way into the northern-most part of Kaedwen.  A larger road continued westward to the city of Leyda and then through a pass in the Kestral Mountains toward the Redanian town of Gelibol. The third path went in a southwestern direction through the town of Daevon, over a southern ridge of the Kestrals, and then down into southern Redania towards the city of Rinde, home of the famous Codpiece Inn.

 

            While the two wagons stopped at the intersection, Barcain rode his horse down the southern path about twenty yards. He figured that everyone was saying their goodbyes before the wagon carrying Nikolai headed north.  A few minutes later, after the first wagon still hadn’t come his way, he turned his horse around to see Benny, Geralt, and Evie in deep discussion. Before he could head back, he saw Geralt riding over in his direction.

 

            “Change of plans,” informed the witcher.

 

            “How so?”

 

“We’re all going to Kaer Morhen now.”

 

Geralt saw a flash of anger enter Barcain’s eyes. “Why the hell is that?”

 

            “I told you this morning that I talked to Benny about our mission, and he’s decided-”

 

            “Yeah, I remember,” interrupted Barcain.  “I’m not an idiot. So, we’re changing plans and nobody bothered to consult with me?”

 

            Geralt looked hard at the former Nilfgaardian soldier. “I’m telling you now.”

 

            “Exactly. You’re telling me. Not consulting with me. I thought that I had a say in this.”

 

            “Is that what you’re so angry about?  Alright, well Benny just told us that he wants to come along with us. And given his magical skills…well, he’s already proven his worth. However, we all agreed that he needs to stay with Nikolai until they can get him safely to Kaer Morhen.  And since he can’t teleport, then we decided to just go with him.”

 

            “Who’s ‘we?’”

           

            “Evie…and me.  This is ultimately her show.  And now that she’s my wife, my number one priority is her safety.  So, _we_ decided…but you obviously want to give your opinion in the matter.  So, here’s me consulting you now. Do you have a problem with a skilled sorcerer joining our group?”

 

            Barcain didn’t say anything for the longest time, just continued to stare back at the witcher.  Finally, he exhaled deeply and gave a bit of an embarrassed smile.

 

            “No, I don’t,” he answered. “Sorry. I shouldn’t have gotten so angry.  It just touched a nerve with me – not being asked.  It reminded me of why I left my military post with Nilfgaard.”

 

            The White Wolf was still looking at Barcain with a furrowed brow.  “Okay,” he said nodding his head. “But we’re all good now?”

 

            “Yeah, we’re all good,” he replied, the smile still on his face.

 

oOo

 

_Montecalvo_

            Philippa stepped out of a portal inside the library of her palace, startling Oran. He had awoken to an empty castle so he’d spent his morning perusing through several of her texts on very dark magic.

 

            “I need your assistance. In the lab,” she said, her tone making it clear it was an order not a request.

 

            He followed in step behind her, noticing a hair brush in her hand.

 

            “Where’d you go?”  


            “An errand,” she said simply.

 

            He sighed and then asked, “What’s with the brush?”

 

            “It’s needed for a spell.”

 

            Oran stopped. A few steps later, Philippa realized he was no longer following her and turned around.

 

            “You brought me here for a reason, sister. You obviously want my help in one of your…schemes. So, I need you to be a little more forthcoming with your answers.”

 

            Philippa didn’t say anything for a moment. “Very well, brother. Do you know the intricate details of pyromancy?”

 

            Oran shook his head. “The details...no.”

 

            It was Philippa’s turn to shake her head. “Didn’t think so. You really shouldn’t have allowed yourself to be kicked out of school, Oran. Your lack of magical knowledge is embarrassing.”

 

            Before Oran could respond, Philippa continued.

 

            “But, that can’t be changed now. Come…I’ll explain as we walk.”

 

            Upon seeing Oran nod his head in agreement, the sorceress turned and walked with haste towards her lab.

 

            “Pyromancy, in general terms, is magic that either uses fire in the spell to _achieve_ the desired outcome, or it is magic that has some type of fire _as_ the desired outcome. In our particular case this morning, it’s the former.  I want to pinpoint the historian that I told you about, and I’m going to use pyromancy to do so.  However, I need _something_ of my target in order to find her.  And not just any possession will do.  Ideally, it needs to be something from her person – skin, blood, other fluids…or in this case, hair.  I just returned from her home, where it fortunately still remains unoccupied, and found this,” she finished by holding up the hairbrush.

 

            By this point, they were in her lab. Philippa quickly used a spell to extract all the long, dark-brown strands from the brush.  They levitated in the air in front of her and then swirled together into an oval-looking hair ring and fell slowly into a large, granite bowl on the table before them.

 

            “There isn’t much hair here so I’m going to have to use all of it. We’ve only got one attempt at this so I’d like for you to watch carefully.  Pay attention to every detail.”

 

            Oran looked over at his sister.  “Watch for what exactly?”

 

            “There will be a vision in the flames above the bowl.  Look closely at it for any type of marker indicating their location. It won’t last long.”

 

            The Ghost nodded his head.

 

            The sorceress began waiving her arms and hands over the bowl while chanting for several seconds. Suddenly, the hair in the bowl caught fire, and large flames leapt upward two to three feet above it. Oran peered closely and a small smile came to his face as a vision appeared of an attractive woman with medium length, dark brown hair. His eyes scanned the flames taking in every detail until several seconds later, the fire disappeared with a small, whooshing sound.  He then stood up straight, thinking how beneficial this magical spell would have been – and still would be – while tracking would-be assassination targets.

 

            “Damn it,” he heard Philippa curse beside him.  “It looked like they were in the middle of nowhere. They could be anywhere in Kaedwen.”

 

            Oran shook his head.  If his years as an assassin - sneaking in and out of private homes with high levels of security - had taught him anything, then it was to pay attention to details. And he’d caught a couple of such details in those few seconds.

 

            The Ghost smiled at his sister. “I don’t know where they’re going…but, I know where they are.”

 

oOo

 

            Later that evening, Timataal and Malek were high in the Kestral Mountains looking down at the road below. 

 

            “What do you think of Ves’s story?” asked Malek.

 

            Timataal shook his head. “She might be from Temeria. That part is probably true, but she and those men with her are no ordinary farmers-turned-freedom fighters.  They’re professionals.”

 

            Malek nodded. “I agree.”

 

            “What do you make of Radovid being after your niece? How the hell would he even know about her?”

 

Timataal was the only one of his men who knew of Malek’s relationship to Evie. And, after Ves had told Malek the results of her interrogation of Private Kowalski, they had all decided on staying at the pass for another day to see if the historian would ever show up.   

 

            Malek shrugged. “He’s obviously got a fantastic spy network…as we do.”

 

            “If she doesn’t show, what’s the plan?”

 

            That was the question that had been running through Malek’s mind for the last twenty-four hours.  Based on his last piece of intelligence, he knew that Evie was in Kaedwen and that she was heading west towards Redania, but that was the extent of it.  He could spend weeks, maybe even months, traveling around both countries trying to find a clue to their whereabouts.  But, it had actually been a passing remark from Ves – when she mentioned she knew well Geralt of Rivia - that had helped Malek come to a decision.

 

            “We’ll follow the Temerians back into Redania.”

 

 

oOo

 

_Kaedwen_

 

            The witcher looked down at his wedding gift – the leather-bound book – in his hands. He opened it to the first page and contemplated the scripture that he’d asked Evie to translate for him first – the poem of praise that Lydial had read several afternoons prior. The poem that had first caused him to pray.  He read the words that stated that Essea was the father of the fatherless and immediately thought of all the orphans that were currently playing and laughing at the campsite.  He read that Essea was the defender of widows, and then his eyes scanned toward Gretel and then to Lydial, who was busy cleaning up the cookware from their earlier dinner. He read again that Essea was the God who sets the lonely in families, and he noticed Rien and Barcain playing Gwent against each other, and then his eyes went back to Gretel, bouncing four-year old Nigel on her knee.  He thought of her being released not only from a literal jail cell in Ban Ard but also the figurative jail of prostitution and drug addiction, and the words “You lead out the prisoners with singing,” leapt from the page.  Finally, he read that Essea was the savior to the oppressed, and he considered them all.

 

They had all been oppressed by someone or something.  There were, of course, the obvious culprits – tyrants sitting on royal thrones, dangerous monsters terrorizing towns, common bandits wreaking havoc among citizens, elected officials abusing their authority, and everything in between.  But, there was also the more subtle, but no less oppressive, thoughts and behaviors found in the hearts of man – the prejudice against another based simply on race, gender, nationality, or socioeconomic status. Mostly characteristics that one had absolutely no control over. That kind of oppression, the witcher thought, was actually more difficult to battle than the former group.  A monster – human or otherwise – terrorizing a town could always be dealt with, perhaps not easily, but at least swiftly and completely.  But, how could one go about eradicating the prejudice found inside the mind of an individual person or, even worse, an entire community? No sword could cut away that ill. And no amount of protesting and angry shouting would ever make that type of oppression disappear. At best, that’d just make it hide out of sight until it could resurface again later, and all the while, it’d still be simmering just below the surface of society.

 

So, how could one actually go about changing the deep-seated beliefs in someone else?  The witcher doubted it could be done, for if it could, then wouldn’t it have happened already.  He assumed that it’d take both sides actually sitting down and being willing to take the time, energy, and desire to form a relationship with the other. To see that all living, sapient, soul-bearing beings were, ultimately, all the same deep down. The problem, the witcher knew, was that neither side, typically, was willing to even bother with making the attempt. So, how could there be reconciliation when neither side would even come to the table? Geralt shook his head, thinking, once again, that prejudice would simply never go away. 

 

However, despite the clearly harmful effects of the world’s external oppressors, the witcher believed that, perhaps, the more damaging oppression actually came from within – from an oppressive force of one’s own making. He recognized that most people were filled with differing levels of guilt, shame, insecurity, fear, negative thinking, and self-loathing.  He could admit to having – or, at least, to having had - much of that himself, and he knew that a person would carry those with them wherever they went. He knew that those negative thoughts and emotions destroyed one’s inner peace and joy more than any external circumstance ever could. For one’s circumstances could change, but unless they were dealt with, the inner demons of one’s mind and soul would torment a person wherever they lived, all day, every day.

 

The witcher came out of his thoughts and, once again, looked around the campsite. There was no doubt that they were a band of misfits, all just struggling to find their way, to find meaning in a dark and hopeless world. And then he looked back down at the book in his hands and read the words again.  As he considered more deeply just how Essea was described within, he thought maybe – just maybe – the world wasn’t completely without hope after all. And thinking of hope made him think of Evie, and his eyes quickly found her.

 

            He closed the book and made his way over to her and Lydial, who were still putting away the cooking supplies and utensils into the back of a wagon.

 

            “Can I help?” he asked.

 

            Evie smiled at him. “You cooked. We clean up. I thought that was the deal?”

 

            “It is, but maybe I just want to spend time with you,” I replied.

 

            Twenty minutes later, he and Evie were sitting off by themselves, a little way from the campfire.  His thoughts from earlier were still on his mind so he turned to his wife.

 

            “What are your hopes for the future? I mean, after this…sword-rod-prophecy business is all over.”

 

            She thought for a second before answering. “To be with you,” she stated simply.

 

            “That’s it?”

 

            “Well…I…I don’t want to say. I don’t want you to feel pressured to do something simply because I want it.”

 

            “Evie, I thought we said no secrets with each other.  I _want_ to know what you want because…I want to give it to you – as much as I can.  Making you happy brings me joy.”

 

            “Okay.” Then, she breathed out deeply. “I’d love for us to live in Corvo Bianco. For you to put your swords away and become a simple vineyard owner. And…” Her eyes scanned the campsite and then into his eyes. “…maybe we could adopt?”

 

            Geralt didn’t say anything for a bit. His eyes, like hers had done, looked at the kids scattered about.  Then, he slowly nodded his head.

 

            “It’d be a _completely_ different life than what I’m used to, but…that actually sounds really good to me, too.”

 

            “Really?” she asked with excitement. “You’ll take me to Corvo Bianco after this is over?”

 

            “Yeah,” he replied with a genuine smile.

 

            “You promise?” Her smile reached into her eyes.

 

            “I promise,” he said. Looking into her face, he was pretty sure that he’d never be able to refuse her anything. “Of course, you may have to continue working.  We’ll probably need the income since I know nothing of wine making or farming. I’ll probably bankrupt us within the first year.”

 

            She shook her head. “We’re a team. I’ll help you. And even if we do lose it – so what? As long as we’re together, I’ll be content.” After a pause, she asked, “And adoption?”

 

            The witcher nodded. “If that’s what you’d like.  Have you already thought about what age or how many?”

 

            Her eyes shifted across the campsite and then back to his. “Maybe…Isaac? I’ve seen just how much he’s taken to you.”

 

            Geralt located Isaac several yards away, standing and looking over the shoulders of three others who were sitting on the ground, playing some kind of make-believe game with stick figures. He was a short and skinny kid, even for his age, and the tattered and very baggy clothes he wore made him look even scrawnier. The witcher stared at the lad for a while.

 

            “Yeah.” He then looked at Evie. “We’ll have to ask him, of course, but, yeah…Though, let’s wait to discuss it with him until this whole affair is over, okay?”

 

            She nodded with a warm smile and hugged her witcher tightly. Then, she whispered into his ear.

 

            “Let’s grab a blanket and find a meadow. I’d like some private time with my husband.”

 

oOo

 

_Montecalvo_

 

            “Oran, return to Hengfors immediately. I’ll open a portal for you.  Gather your men and ride hard east through the Kestral mountains. I’ll await for you there, where it intersects the road to Ard Carraigh.”

 

            Philippa had just returned from central Kaedwen.  Given that she hadn’t known in which direction they’d be heading, it had taken her half a day in her avian form to finally locate the two-wagon caravan heading north. That night, under the cover of darkness, she had approached the group’s camp.  It had taken several hours, but she finally overheard them mentioning their ultimate destination of Kaer Morhen. And while she knew _of_ the witcher stronghold, she didn’t know its exact location.

 

            “Understood,” said Oran with a nod. “Where will you be?”

 

            “I need to head back and follow them,” she answered, and then she explained why. “Once I track them and know the way to Kaer Morhen, I’ll meet you and your men and lead us there.”

 

             “Bugger, Philippa. You didn’t mention this historian was traveling with a witcher.”

 

            “Pish posh, Oran.  There’s only one of them, and they are highly overrated. Why do you think they’re almost extinct? If I wasn’t fully confident in your abilities, I would’ve never sought out your help. So…I’m quite sure that he’ll pose no problems for _the Ghost,_ right? ”

 

            Oran was taken aback. He wasn’t sure that his sister had ever complimented him – directly, backhandedly, or any other manner.  But, he felt something that he hadn’t felt in a long time because of it – pride.  He felt pride that his sister had turned to him, and he wasn’t going to fail her.

 

            He nodded his head. “Right. I won’t let you down.”

 

            “Excellent, Oran. I knew that I could count on you.”

           

oOo

 

_Tretogor, Redania_

Roche didn’t even bother pretending to be angry. He knew well what was in Ves’s nature – that she acted rashly much of the time.  He’d learned to accept it, and since he also knew well that she’d never change, then getting angry would be just a waste of time.  So, when she returned five days after being sent out – with a group of strangers in tow - and told him that she and her men had done more than observe Radovid’s troops, he just sighed and said, “At least tell me it was worth it. That you found out something useful.”

 

            “Well, these fellows may be useful,” she said with a smile, pointing at Malek and his men.  They had told her that they were Redanians looking to overthrow Radovid’s tyrannical rule and had been heading to Kaedwen to find like-minded individuals willing to join their cause.          

 

            Roche’s eyes scanned the men sitting in front of him, his face betraying nothing. 

 

            “We’ll see. But, I meant, did you find anything useful with regards to Radovid?”

 

She shrugged and answered, “Well, I don’t know how useful it is, but it’s very interesting.”

 

            “How so?”

 

            “His troops were in the pass to capture a historian from the Empire.”

 

            “Huh. Did they tell you why Radovid wants her?”

 

            She shook her head. “No.”

 

            “Then, how is it interesting, Ves?” asked Roche, getting a little short on patience.

 

            Ves smiled. “Because the historian is apparently traveling with our favorite, white-haired witcher.”

 

            It had been that piece of news – that both Ves and her superior officer personally knew Geralt of Rivia – that had convinced Malek to travel back to Redania with her. As a master in spy craft, Malek understood that the best way to learn of a person’s character, secrets, tendencies, and the like was to pick the brains of their friends and associates. And at the moment, the Temerians’ relationship with the witcher was the only clue he had to pursue. So, he was going to pull on that thread until there was nothing left to learn.

 

oOo

 

_Northeastern Kaedwen_

            “Well, here it is,” stated Geralt.

 

As he looked at the group around him, he wasn’t sure who was more excited at the sight – the young kids or his historian-wife. It had taken them a week, but they were now just outside of the witcher fortress of Kaer Morhen. 

 

            “Wow! Growing up here must have been so much fun,” the witcher heard one of the kids say from behind him. As he gazed at the high walls of the keep and then the massive structure of the old castle itself, the memories from his youth came flooding back. He looked about at his childhood home – the only home he’d ever known - and he slowly shook his head.

 

            “It was a lot of things, but _fun_ certainly wasn’t one of them,” he replied in almost a whisper. Then, he made eye contact with the youngsters and gave a small smile.

 

            “But…that doesn’t mean it can’t be fun for you. Let’s get Nikolai settled in first, and then I’ll show everyone around.”

 

            Several hours later, in the very late afternoon, the adults were sitting around three large tables in the giant, central hall of the keep. They had just finished an early dinner, and most of the kids had left to explore the grounds and other areas of the castle.  Geralt had locked the doors to the main armory and lab so he wasn’t worried about their safety.  There was one, however, who hadn’t gone off with the rest.  Both Geralt and Evie noticed that Isaac had stayed behind and was off by himself on the other side of the large room.  He was standing in front of the small, makeshift armory that consisted of a weapons rack holding two swords, an armorer’s table, and a grindstone. They watched as the small boy looked around and then tentatively reached out and grasped one of the swords by the hilt.  He tried to lift it from the rack but found that it was too heavy so he grasped it with both hands. He eventually lifted it from its place and held it up in front of him. He took a two-handed swing at an imaginary foe in front of him, but since he barely weighed more than the sword itself, he almost lost his balance in doing so.

 

            “Aren’t you afraid he’s going to hurt himself?” asked Evie.

 

            The witcher shook his head. “Nah. I took the sharp swords down to the main armory earlier.  The ones over there are training swords. They couldn’t cut through porridge.”

 

After watching Isaac for another minute or so – with Geralt wincing the entire time - he finally said, “Damn it. This is killing me. Let’s go over there. Watching him swing a sword like that is making my head hurt.”

 

oOo

 

            “Gretel, I brought you some food. You missed dinner again,” said Lydial.

 

            The young woman looked up from where she was wiping the sweat off of Nikolai’s forehead.

           

            “Oh…thank you, Lydial,” she said, putting the plate beside her and then taking a small bite of the roasted meat.

 

            “You’ve been pretty tireless in helping Benny and Rien look after Nikolai.  Benny says you’ve got the makings of a healer inside of you.”

 

            Gretel smiled. “He said that? Really?”

 

Lydial nodded and smiled back. “Is that something you’ve thought of pursuing?”

 

Gretel’s smile faded, and she shook her head. “Oh, no. I…I could never do that.”

 

“No? Then, why have you taken to caring after Nikolai so easily?”

 

Gretel hesitated, staring down at the young man. Finally, in a very soft voice she said, “He reminds me of Heinrich, my husband.”  She looked quickly at Lydial and then back at Nikolai again. “I mean, obviously, just the way he looks. I don’t know what his personality is like yet.”

 

Lydial nodded.  “What was Heinrich like?” she asked.

 

Gretel looked up at Lydial with a wistful smile. “He was so kind to me. I loved him so much…It’s been five years, Lydial.  Will I ever stop missing him?”

 

A sad smile came across the elf’s face.

 

“I still think of Dilis almost every day, and he died decades ago. But, yes, the pain does eventually go away, but you’ve got to face it.  Feel it. Go through it. If you just try to numb it or push it down, it’ll never leave.”

 

Gretel nodded. She looked again at Nikolai and then back at Lydial. “Can you teach me how?” she asked, with a touch of hope in her voice.

 

Lydial gave her a smile. “Well, I can tell you how I got through it.  Would you permit me to tell you of my God, Essea?”

 

The former prostitute stared into the older widow’s eyes and nodded.

 

oOo

 

“What are you pretending to be fighting?” asked Geralt as he and Evie approached Isaac, still struggling with the sword.

 

He stopped what he was doing and looked up a little embarrassed. 

 

“A cockatrice.  Benny told me the story of the ones you two fought.”

 

“Is that right?”

 

Isaac nodded his head.  He looked down shyly and then back up at Geralt. 

 

“Geralt, do you think I could grow up to be a witcher like you?”

 

The White Wolf looked down at the boy with a furrowed brow.

 

“And why exactly would you want to be like me?”

 

The little boy swallowed and then looked down at his feet. When he looked back up at Geralt, he had tears welling up in his eyes.

 

“So, that no one would mess with me. So that no one would hurt me…or my family.”

 

Evie’s heart broke at both his words and his tears. Neither she nor Geralt had asked Isaac about the scar across his face or how he’d become orphaned, but she guessed it was not from some simple accident.

 

Geralt nodded his head and then knelt down on one knee in front of Isaac.

 

“Well, I’m sorry to tell you this, but you can’t be a witcher.”

 

Isaac blinked his eyes, causing a tear to fall down his cheek. “But why not?”

 

“I had to go through a horrible transformation to become a witcher. I was about your age, in fact. But…that knowledge…of how to conduct the Trial of Grasses, it’s been lost.”

 

Upon hearing that, the little boy just lowered his head.

 

The witcher breathed deeply a few times and then said, “But…Isaac,” causing the lad to look up and into the witcher’s face. “…if you’d like, I can still train you how to use a sword.”

 

Suddenly, the little boy’s face lit up with a smile. “Really?”

 

The witcher nodded.

 

Then, the smile left Isaac’s face. “But, when? You’re leaving in the morning.”

 

“I’ll…” then Geralt turned and looked at Evie. He reached up and grabbed her hand. “ _We’ll_ come back.  Would you like for us to come back for you?”

 

“Yeah! And then you’ll teach me?”

 

“Everything I know. But…I need something from you, okay?”

 

Isaac nodded. “Okay. What is it?”

 

“If you really want to be like me, then I need two things from you.”

 

“I’ll do anything!” exclaimed the young boy quickly.

 

“Alright, first lesson – don’t agree to anything in life until you’ve heard the conditions first. Got it?”

 

The boy nodded again. “Okay…what are the…conditions?” he asked, unfamiliar with the word.

 

The witcher smiled. “You may not like them, but…first, I don’t want you practicing with a sword while I’m gone. I don’t want you developing bad habits that we’ll have to break later.”

 

Geralt expected an argument, but to his surprise, Isaac simply nodded. “Okay,” he said. The boy really was a lot different than Ciri, the witcher thought to himself.

 

“Second, while we’re gone, I need you to develop your mind.  That is a man’s greatest weapon. Do you know how to read?”

 

The boy lowered his head and shook it but just barely.

 

“Hey, it’s nothing to be embarrassed about, but…we do need to remedy it.”

 

Geralt then looked up at Evie. “Do you have the Essean tome in Common?” he asked.

 

            “Right here,” she answered, pulling it from her satchel.

 

            “Do you agree to the conditions, Isaac?”

 

            The lad looked into Geralt’s eyes, and the witcher could see resolution within. He nodded his head and said, “I agree.”

 

            Geralt smiled. “Good. Then, let’s get started now.”

 

oOo

 

_Vizima, Temeria_

 

            “The White Flame Dancing on the Graves of His Foes” slammed the desk with his hand. The man standing across from his, with head bowed, trembled even more than he’d already been.

 

            The Emperor of Nilfgaard had historically been quite unflappable.  Of course, it was easy for him to act that way when virtually every plan he’d ever concocted over the last two decades had fallen into place. But, in the last year, it seemed that he’d encountered one roadblock after another. And, now, he’d just been informed of yet another failure to execute his orders. Emhyr’s patience was at an end.

 

            “And just why were the elves at Dol Blathanna not exterminated?” he asked Captain Vorscht, commander of the garrison at Aldersberg.

 

            “Your Majesty,” Vorscht stated in a quaky voice. “The Aen Seidhe simply were not there. The gates to the ground were locked from the inside. When we finally breached the wall, we found no one there. We then checked the palace. It was empty as well.” Before the Emperor had a chance to explode again, Vorscht quickly continued. “But, that wasn’t the only strange occurrence, Your Majesty.  On the third floor of the palace, there was a room that seemed to be magically sealed.  No matter what we tried, we simply couldn’t break through.”

 

            The Emperor glared at Vorscht. “You are dismissed, Captain,” he said with little emotion. He was once again under control, but the impatience was boiling under the surface. After the soldier exited the room, Emhyr called for his chamberlain.

 

            “Mererid, summon my sorceresses.”

 

            The chamberlain suddenly had an uncomfortable look on his face.

 

            “My deepest apologies, Your Highness, but they are not present.”

 

            “Where have they gone?”

 

            The elderly man bowed his head even lower.

 

            “Your Majesty, no one knows. Lady Eilhart and Lady Yennefer have not been seen in weeks, and Lady Vigo in three or four days.”

 

            Emhyr stared at his chamberlain for what felt like an hour to the servant. Finally, he spoke in a very even tone.

 

            “Mererid, are the members of my War Cabinet present in the palace, or are _they_ missing as well?”

 

            “They _are_ present, Your Majesty.”

 

            “Well, praise the Sun for minor miracles,” he replied sarcastically.  “Have them convene in the War Room in one hour.”

 

            Mererid nodded his head and quickly left the chambers.

 

            Ten minutes later, Emhyr walked past several armed guards in a highly secluded part of the palace. He unlocked a door to which only he possessed the key and stepped into a completely dark room.  He carefully shut the door and raised a lit torch above his head to get a better view of what lay before him. The light from the torch’s flames reflected back at him in more than a dozen lifeless, obsidian-black eyes.  To the Emperor, they looked like large doll’s eyes. As he looked about the cavernous room, he recalled a very specific conversation with Philippa Eilhart from almost a year back.

 

            _“Your Majesty, what you are asking is very dangerous.”_

_“Explain,” he commanded._

_“Magical constructs have limited intelligence. They can typically only follow simple, direct instructions. Therefore, historically, they have only been found to be useful for defensive purposes. They can understand and follow a simple order, such as, ‘Guard the castle,’ or ‘Kill all intruders.’”_

_“And if they were given more complex commands?” the Emperor asked._

_“Such as, ‘Go down the hill, cross the Pontar River, and kill every one wearing a red uniform?’”_

_“Yes, something such as that.”_

_“That, Your Majesty, is unknown.”_

_“Miss Eilhart, you are in my court as an advisor. Therefore, give me your best, most-highly educated guess as to what would happen.”_

_“Very well. I see two possible, most-likely outcomes.  One, they would only be able to follow the first part of the command.  After that, they would simply stop, not remembering and not knowing what to do next.”_

_“And the second?”_

_The smallest of evil smiles came to her face._

_“Total chaos. Without clear, understandable commands, they’d simply go about doing what they do best – causing complete death and destruction of everything in their sight.”_

_“That sounds like the result that I desire.”_

_“You misunderstand me, Your Excellency.  They would be uncontrolled.  Not just killing Redanian soldiers, but also moving across the countryside, destroying everything in their path.  They could even turn around and come after your own men.”_

_“Hmm. You have given me much to consider.”_

_The sorceress didn’t say anything, just nodded._

_The Emperor was silent for the longest time. He finally spoke. “You have done your duty and informed me of the risks. Regardless, I want you to build them for me.  I will decide later how to use them.”_

_Philippa smiled. “As you wish, Your Majesty.”_

oOo

 

_Tretogor, Redania_

 

            Sitting in a small room in a small shack on a small hill east of the city, Ves and Malek sat around a small table with a large bottle of vodka. Since arriving in Tretogor, Malek had been tagging along with Ves whether she ventured into the city in disguise or simply sat at an observation post overlooking the goings-on below.  In the last four days, the spy had gradually developed a relationship with the short haired blonde, slowly earning her trust. It didn’t hurt – he realized - that she clearly found him attractive. He’d carefully walked the fine line of subtly probing her for information without being so ham-handed that she ever became suspicious. In his time there, he had not yet once mentioned the witcher.

 

            “You and Roche must have had some pretty amazing adventures together, huh?” Malek asked as he poured both himself and Ves their fourth shots of vodka.

 

            They had come off duty an hour earlier, which meant that they could normally get seven or eight hours of sleep. But, Ves had had a different idea and pulled out the bottle of alcohol.   Malek smiled inwardly, knowing few things loosen one’s tongue like booze.

 

            “Yep,” she answered, downing the shot.

           

            “Met some interesting people?”

 

            “Yep,” she replied again as she grabbed the bottle.

 

            “Who would you say was the most interesting?”

 

            Ves downed another shot and then stared hard into his eyes for several long moments.  “I’m tired of talking,” she said. “See that bed there in the corner?” she asked, her eyes darting to the bed and then back to Malek.

 

            Malek nodded, a look of amusement on his face.

 

            “Let’s use it.”

 

“Are you quite sure, Ves?”

 

“You saved my ass in the mountains. Let me repay you for your kindness.”

 

Then, she stood up, walked over to Malek, straddled him in his chair and began

kissing him roughly, her hands running through his long, salt-and-pepper hair.

 

            As the two came up for air, he responded, “I do believe that you’ve convinced me.”

 

oOo

 

            Five hours later, Ves woke up hungover, naked, and alone. Her throat was dry, her head was pounding, and her body was quite sore down below.  But, the man who had made her sore was nowhere to be seen.  She walked over to a basin of water on the dresser, and as she splashed water in her face, she tried to remember the details of the previous evening, but given that her brain was still soaked in alcohol, those events were still in a fog. As she continued to think on it harder, she could have sworn that during a rest break in between one of their sessions, he’d asked about the witcher and she had told him about her and Roche’s adventure last year fighting the Wild Hunt at Kaer Morhen.  Before drinking down a glass of water, she shook her head, wondering why of all things they would have discussed that. Then, her eyes drifted over to the table, where she saw a note. She stretched her arms over her head as she walked over to it. It read:

 

            “Ves,

 

It’s been a pleasure, but duty calls me and my men elsewhere.  I wish you well on achieving our mutual objective.  Perhaps, if fate is kind, we shall meet again. Until the next.”

 

            The Temerian sighed.

 

            “Just your luck, Ves,” she said to herself as she crumpled up the note. “The first guy that you’ve slept with in ages that was actually worth a damn, and he leaves the next day.”

 

oOo

 

_Northeastern Kaedwen_

 

            Philippa stood in front of Oran and his fifteen men several hours after sunset. They were less than a mile away from the witcher fortress of Kaer Morhen, and Philippa had just returned from a quick reconnaissance flight to see that everyone was inside the keep. Oran and his men had dismounted their horses and were going to travel the last bit on foot for a more stealth-like approach. She had already informed them that there were only two individuals – the witcher and the soldier – who were armed.  The remainder of the group consisted of an old man, several weak women, and numerous helpless children.

 

            “Remember, do not kill the historian.  She must remain alive,” said the sorceress, giving last minute instructions.  “The rest…do as you will.”

 

            That elicited many smiles from the men before her.


	8. Chapter 8

            The witcher opened his eyes and rose up slowly from next to Evie.  They’d fallen asleep in his bedroom located on the third floor of the tower and had left the balcony doors wide open, enjoying the cool, mountain breeze.  He sat very still, listening quietly, and then, almost immediately, he heard the familiar noise again – the noise that had stirred him from his sleep. It was a noise that he’d heard a thousand times in his life so it was unmistakable. It was the sound of the main gate being raised. He quickly shook Evie awake.

 

            “Get up. We’ve got visitors,” he said before he grabbed his clothes and weapons and ran down the circular staircase.

 

Geralt leapt over the last few steps of the staircase, landed on the ground floor, ran through the kitchens and then out into the main hall of the castle.   Except for Nikolai and Rien, everyone else was sleeping on cots or on makeshift pallets on the floor on one side of the large commons area near a very large, open fireplace.  The wood within was still burning brightly, with the flames casting light and shadows on the castle’s walls.  He woke Benny and Barcain and told them what he’d heard. As they went about waking and warning the rest, the witcher hurried to the other side of the vast room to the small armory. His eyes hastily scanned the tables while he snatched up a few random materials, and then he headed for the front doors of the castle.  He approached the doors and paused for a moment to listen. Hearing nothing on the other side, he cracked the door open just a hair in order to peer through.  He cursed to himself as he saw more than a dozen, heavily-armed figures lurking through the courtyard gate and heading his way. He barred the doors shut and then began assembling some on-the-fly explosive devices from the different parts that he’d picked up from the armorer’s table and from the bombs off of his bandolier.

 

oOo

 

            After arriving at the lowered gate of the main entrance, Philippa Eilhart had changed into her owl form and had flown over the high wall of Kaer Morhen.  As she landed, she converted back into her human body and then quickly found the lever that would open the gate, allowing her brother and his men entry.

 

            Five minutes later, the large group made its way in the darkness through the outer grounds and courtyard of the keep and towards the castle itself. As they approached the steps that led up to the front doors of the castle, five men moved forward while the rest fanned out behind them on the steps below.  Oran slipped into the shadows and then cast his best spell – the one that would conceal his presence. Philippa had made it clear to him earlier that he had only two main objectives – find the historian and her book and, if possible, kill the witcher. Those were her objectives, too. The rest of the men were there to simply cause death, confusion, and mayhem – in other words, to keep the witcher occupied.  The point-man approached the front door, slowly turned its handle, and pushed but with no success. He looked back at Philippa and shook his head.  The sorceress walked slowly up the steps, and the five men near the doors immediately and swiftly moved behind her.  She positioned herself fifteen feet in front of the doors, and for just a moment, she stood completely still – as if purposefully building the tension. Then, she began moving her hands and arms in an intricate pattern while uttering – to the men around her - unintelligible words. She was planning to cast the most powerful spell that she knew.

 

oOo

 

            Geralt had just finished making and placing some hastily-constructed booby traps when his ears picked up a sound from the outside. He then heard someone trying to push open the heavy wooden doors. He quickly swiveled his head to assess the situation behind him.  Since he couldn’t see them anywhere, he assumed that Lydial and Gretel had taken the five youngest kids and hidden out of sight, but the three teenagers and the remaining adults were all standing in a line on the far side of the main hall, all holding various weapons at the ready. He sighed, wishing that the teenagers had hidden, too. He was afraid that they’d just get in his way and complicate matters.

 

Suddenly, he heard the unmistakable sounds of a spell being cast coming from the other side of the doors. He immediately cast a Quen Sign and started sprinting away from the doors. A second later, the witcher felt and heard an incredible explosion coming from behind him – an explosion that shook the entire castle and caused cracks to emerge throughout the ancient, run-down edifice. A large chunk of the wooden door hit the witcher in the back, knocking him off his feet and slamming him into a nearby stone column.  He groggily got to a knee and looked back at the front door of the castle, but there was nothing to see. Smoke and dust filled the air.

 

oOo

 

            Philippa cast her spell towards the front door, and to her surprise, the entire front wall exploded, blowing her and the closest men backwards and down the steps. Little did she know that the witcher’s explosives on the other side of the door had greatly added to the blast.  She got to her feet – her ears ringing -  and felt a stinging sensation coming from her face. She reached up with her left hand and felt a very large splinter impaled in her cheek. 

 

            “That gods-damned witcher,” she said through gritted teeth as she pulled it loose. The thought flashed through her mind that, perhaps, she should finally stop underestimating him.

 

She looked around her and suddenly felt fortunate that the splinter was the only damage that she’d sustained. Two of the men were on the ground with large shards of wood and stone protruding from their bodies, blood pouring from their wounds.

 

She looked again at the front of the castle and immediately began casting another spell.  A few seconds later, a gale force of wind erupted from her hands and headed towards the front entrance.  As the smoke and wind blew into the castle, Philippa and the rest were able to get a clear view of the castle’s front facade. The explosion had not only blown the doors to bits, but it has caused severe structural damage to the entire front wall.  The majority of the wall and even parts of the roof had fallen down into a large, ten-foot tall mound of stone and mortar. 

 

            She turned around and spoke to the men in front of her.

 

            “Well…what are you waiting for?”

 

            As the bandits started forward, she grabbed two men by the sleeves of their shirts.

 

            “You two, with me,” she ordered. “We’ll attack them from both sides.”

 

            She quickly transformed into an owl and flew upwards toward the balcony high on the tower.  She landed cautiously and listened closely to determine if there was anyone within. Not hearing anything, she changed back into her human shape and peeked her head inside to confirm that she was alone.   In the middle of the bedchamber, there was a lit, oil lamp on a table which allowed her to see that the room was indeed empty. She then cast a portal on the balcony, with its “twin” opening on the ground below. The two men immediately entered the portal, and unbeknownst to them, Oran followed right behind. After the two outlaws, per the sorceress’ orders, headed down the stairs to join the action below, Philippa looked around the room.  Oran, still concealed, heard her laugh.

 

            “It can’t be,” she exclaimed with surprise.

 

            She walked over to the bedside table and picked up an expensive-looking, leather bound book. Opening it up, she laughed again.

 

            “It appears that she’s translated the tome into Common. It looks, dear brother, as if we may not need to keep the historian alive, after all.”

 

oOo

 

            The dozen men from Hengfors crawled over the high mound of rubble. The cloud of dust was still in front of them, filling the main hall of the castle and hindering their ability to locate their prey. They all stepped off the pile of rocks and back onto the smooth, solid floor and started to fan out, and it was at that point that they began to see something glowing coming towards them.  Out of the smoky fog walked two men, both wielding swords. But the eyes of all were focused on the man on their right. The witcher, having just cast the Quen Sign, was covered in an orange shimmer. He paused for just a moment, his eyes taking in his enemy, and then he grabbed a bomb from his bandolier and tossed it in their direction. And the battle began.

 

oOo

 

Oran’s two men had followed Philippa’s directive and raced down the tower’s stairs. Halfway down the staircase, they heard a bomb detonate from somewhere in the castle, followed by the familiar shouts of hand-to-hand combat. They reached the bottom floor and stopped momentarily, for in front of them were two doors.  The one on the left was open, and it seemed as if the noises of the fight were coming through there, but the two could clearly hear sounds emanating from behind the second door, as well. 

 

“Think someone’s hiding in there?” asked one.

 

“Only one way to find out,” answered his partner.

 

The two stepped lightly across the room that was barely illuminated by moonlight coming from some small windows in the tower.  They reached the door, and as one grabbed ahold of the handle, he turned to the other and they nodded their heads in unison. The first tried to jerk the door open, but it wouldn’t budge. At that point, the second noticed that there was a key in the lock.  It never even crossed their minds why – if there was someone hiding inside the room - the door would be locked from the outside. They simply turned the key and then threw the door open, their weapons at the ready. 

 

They stood in the doorway for just a moment, peering into the interior of the completely, pitch-black room. Suddenly, with a startling roar, a monster leapt out of the darkness and onto both men, knocking them to the ground. Their screams filled the air as claws and teeth tore at their flesh. An instant later, a second monster dove into the first and knocked it off the two men.  The two creatures tumbled and rolled across the stone floor before both springing nimbly to their feet. Rien quickly looked over at the two corpses in the doorway and was both relieved and confused to see that they were complete strangers.  He then sensed a movement from his left, and when he turned his eyes back in Nikolai’s direction, he just caught a glimpse of the werelion’s tail disappearing through the doorway and into the common area of the castle.

 

oOo

 

            Evie and Benny were crouched behind a tipped-over table, with Evie shooting her crossbow at the various intruders from Hengfors who were preoccupied with either Geralt, Barcain, or the three teenage orphans. She just missed hitting one of the men with a headshot, and upon hearing the bolt whistle past his ear, he looked up to see its source.  Spotting Evie’s head behind the table, he started running towards her.  Benny looked at the attacking man and then over at Evie, who was doing her best – but struggling - to re-cock the bowstring. He looked back at their attacker to see he was going to get to them before she was ready to fire again.

 

            As the sword-wielding man got within ten feet of them, he yelled, “Evie, close your eyes,” and then immediately cast a spell that shot forth the brightest of white light. 

 

For the approaching mercenary, it was like staring into the sun, and he was completely blinded. He instinctively stopped running and brought his hand up to his closed eyes.

 

            “Now, Evie!” yelled Benny. “Shoot him now.”

 

            Evie raised up, pointed the crossbow at the still-blind man, and put her bolt right through his chest.

 

            “Yes!” exclaimed the mage. “Let’s get another,” he shouted with a smile on his face.

 

            While none of Oran’s band of hoodlums and outlaws were novices in terms of killing, none could compare to the witcher.  For that matter, none had the swordsmanship of Barcain either.  The battle was actually going in the defender’s way until Nikolai appeared with a loud roar. In his animal state, he could not distinguish between friend or foe, and what had once been a simple – though still deadly – two-sided affair, suddenly morphed into absolute chaos despite Rien’s best effort to rein in the out-of-control werelion. Then, the situation worsened even more as a portal opened on the far side of the hall, near the multitude of bookcases.

 

Out walked the Eilhart siblings – though, none could see Oran in his invisible state.  Immediately, Philippa began casting lethal spells about, with a gleeful smile on her face. She saw the witcher, fifty feet away surrounded by a handful of men.  Knowing that any spell she sent the witcher’s way would be inadvertently blocked by his attackers, she cast an explosive lightning spell towards the ceiling directly above where the group was fighting.  Geralt heard the explosion above him and looked up to see chunks of stone raining down. He quickly cast a Quen Sign and dove out of the way as the heavy debris crashed to the floor.  The sorceress then caught a glimpse of Evie out of the corner of her eye and cast a spell in her direction. Benny saw the bright wave of energy heading towards Evie and leapt in front of her. He took the spell in the chest and then fell to the floor with a thud. His body lay motionless.

 

oOo

 

            After being shaken awake by Benny, both Lydial and Gretel had grabbed the five youngest kids and hid behind the first thing they noticed – the numerous thick, heavy bookshelves that were on one side of the great hall.  They all sat on the floor, with Lydial and Gretel holding the two youngest in their arms while the other three were crouched down, hugging their own knees.  When the door exploded and the battle began, they all crowded even closer together, most of them crying in fear. But, eventually, Isaac – the curious lad that he was – began to peek around the edge of the bookshelf.  He could see bodies and swords clashing, but in the darkness, he was unable to distinguish one person from the next.  He was looking for Geralt, and then suddenly, across the way, he noticed a glowing orange light encircling one of the combatants, and he knew that was the witcher. Soon after, he heard a small thunder-like noise coming from nearby. He craned his head out further to see a fiery, oval ring flashing a few feet away. A woman he’d never seen before stepped out of it and commenced to casting spells at Geralt and the rest of his friends. He looked back and forth from her to the armory several times. In the darkness and the chaos, neither Lydial or Gretel noticed Isaac get to his feet and run towards the weapons rack.

 

oOo

 

            “Oran, grab the historian!” Philippa yelled at her brother before continuing to cast a barrage of spells about the castle.

 

She could feel her energy draining, but she knew she had another five-minute’s worth of fight still left in her. Suddenly, she felt a semi-painful blow against her hip. She turned around to see what she thought was, at first, a halfling.  But, peering closer, she saw that it was a skinny, little boy holding a large sword.  She noticed the determination in his eyes as he awkwardly swung the much-too-heavy weapon back and above his shoulder for a second strike.  Then, he swung it forward with all of his might, but the sorceress simply took a step backward and avoided the attack. Having missed his target, Isaac lost his balance and fell, the training sword slipping from his hands and clattering across the floor.  He scrambled over to the dull weapon, struggled to pick it up by its hilt, and turned to face his enemy again.   

 

            “You won’t hurt my family!” he yelled defiantly, a fierce expression on his face. 

 

            Philippa cocked her head slightly to the side as if she could not quite discern what she was seeing in front of her.  Isaac half-ran and half-stumbled towards her, and just before he reached her, the sorceress cast a quick spell, and lightning jumped from her hands and impacted the little boy’s chest. It knocked him off his feet and threw him backwards, the sword flying through the air and bouncing off a nearby bookcase. She then turned her attention back to the main battle, and she was just about to cast more destructive spells when she heard a roar in front of her.  She immediately cast a simple, defensive spell right before a lion-like monster leapt in her direction. The werelion crashed into the shield, causing it to shatter and propelling both of them backwards several feet.  The monster was instantly on its feet again, but when it searched for its prey, it was no longer there. Philippa, now in owl form, was flying towards the front door. 

 

            The werelion’s eyes followed the owl in flight and briefly considered chasing it, but then its sensitive nose picked up the smell of nearby humans coming from behind the bookcases.  As it pounced that way, it was suddenly hit from behind by Rien.  The two crashed into the damaged stone wall, causing the scaffolding attached to the wall – a scaffolding which housed three or four additional heavy bookcases - to crack.  Lydial and Gretel heard the ominous snap of wood above them and immediately grabbed the remaining orphans and fled the area. As the two werelions struggled with one another, the scaffolding broke and fell, bringing down not only a portion of the stone wall but also the thick, book-filled cases on top of the two beasts.

 

oOo

 

            Evie bent over and shook Benny.

 

            “Benny, are you okay?” But the sorcerer was unresponsive.

 

            The historian was about to check his pulse when, suddenly, her eyes went wide. She grabbed the knife from the scabbard on her thigh, dropped to one knee, and she spun to face what was behind her.  As she spun, she swung her knife in front of her.  She felt the sharp blade make contact with something, and then she immediately heard a cry of pain.  She was confused, though, because she couldn’t see anything in front of her. Then, she heard a cruel voice.

 

            “Bitch, I was just going to take you, but now…I’m going to hurt you bad for that,” the mysterious voice hissed.

 

            Then, Evie screamed as loud as she could. “Geralt!”

 

            The witcher heard his wife yelling his name, and without a moment’s hesitation, ran in her direction.  He saw her blindly swinging her knife back and forth in front of her.  He hurdled the turned-over table and stood in front of her, casting a Quen dome around them both. And then his medallion vibrated. His eyes scanned the darkness around them.

 

            “There’s somebody here, but he’s invisible,” she blurted out.

 

            The witcher nodded.  He immediately dropped the Quen and cast a stream of fire from his left to his right.  They both instantly heard a yelp and saw the flames catch ahold of the invisible man.

 

oOo

 

            Philippa stood atop the rubble near the front door and, with what little magical energy she had left, began casting more explosive spells around the Kaer Morhen castle. She blasted away at both load-bearing columns and parts of the ceiling. Finally, as she started to feel light-headed and blackness began encroaching on the edges of her vision, she cast a portal, with the other opening near her brother, and yelled, “Oran, we are leaving!”

           

            Oran rolled on the floor trying to extinguish his flaming clothes.  He got to his feet and immediately threw his knife at the witcher, who had his sword raised and in front of him.  As soon as the knife left his hand, the concealment spell ceased to work on it.  Geralt’s eyes picked up on the metal blade and had just enough time to raise his left forearm a fraction in front of his face. The tip of the knife plunged into Geralt’s arm, but his armor stopped it from penetrating too deep. The attack distracted him just long enough for the Ghost to leap through the nearby portal, which then closed an instant before the witcher could jump through it himself. Geralt turned around and saw the other portal near Philippa.  He began running towards her, but she was too far away.  Before he was halfway there, she cast another portal and a moment later, she and the invisible man were gone.

 

            “Damn it,” cursed the witcher, but then he turned and rushed back to Evie.

 

            He found her kneeling beside the still unconscious Benny.

 

            “Evie, are you okay?” he asked, pulling her into a tight embrace.

 

            “Yes, just scared to death,” she answered, finally feeling safe now that she was in her witcher’s arms.  “Your medallion saved me. I felt it vibrate…so I just took out the knife and started slashing like a crazy person.”

 

            Before they could say anything else, the witcher picked up some low growling coming from the other side of the large hall.  He looked over to see both part of the west wall and all the bookcases in a giant heap.

 

            He got a grim look on his face and said, “Stay here. Nikolai may be over there, okay?”

 

            She nodded and said, “Please be careful, Geralt.”

 

            The witcher, with his silver sword drawn, approached the rubble, but he noticed he wasn’t the only one. Gretel, too, was walking slowly towards the noise.

 

            “Gretel, back the hell away,” Geralt growled at the girl.

 

            “He may be hurt. We have to save him,” she replied with a desperate tone.

 

            The witcher didn’t bother to answer her. He just grabbed her by the back of the collar and yanked her backwards and behind him.  He stepped forward cautiously and heard what sounded like the heap of stones shifting as rocks were being moved, tumbling down the pile and falling to the floor.  The wolf-head medallion that had been worn by both his mentor and his daughter twitched against the monster-hunter’s chest as a werelion stood up from behind the rubble. There were several bleeding wounds on its body.

 

            “Rien?” the witcher asked hopefully.

 

            The werelion answered with a menacing growl and crouched low, as if getting ready to spring forth.

 

            “Damn it,” he said in response. 

 

            Geralt immediately cast an Axii at the werelion, but it simply shook its head back and forth as if shaking water from its face, and then it let out a ferocious roar. The Sign obviously had no effect on the beast.

 

            “Swell,” he replied, gripping his sword tightly with both hands.

 

            “Nikolai, please, don’t.  It’s me, Gretel. We love you,” pleaded the young woman from just beside Geralt.

 

            The beast turned its head towards Gretel and stared at her for just a moment – a moment in which Geralt thought, with the smallest seed of hope, that maybe she had actually gotten through to him.  But, then, the monster roared again and leapt forward with jaws open and claws extended. Gretel screamed, and the witcher swung his sword with all his might.

 

oOo

 

            Just before sunrise, storm clouds rolled in, and torrential rain poured down into the Kaer Morhen castle, splattering off the rubble and washing away the copious amount of blood that covered the stone floor. Over half of the front and west walls had fallen during the battle, and much of the ceiling over the great hall had collapsed as well.  To the witcher’s eyes, the castle now looked like the ruins of an old elven palace. Geralt scanned his surroundings and saw that the Wolf-School guild’s library was completely destroyed.  All of the valuable tomes were either buried under mounds of rock or soaked wet from the rain.

 

The witcher slowly walked through the carnage, hand-in-hand with Evie. The shock of killing a man had finally worn off after Geralt had held her and consoled her for a long while, but the tears still rolled down her cheeks. Though, now they were indistinguishable from the heavy drops of rain that plastered her hair to her head and trickled downward, soaking her blouse. They walked along inspecting the bodies strewn about – ignoring, for the time being, those of the enemy while looking for those of their friends.  As they moved over towards the bookcases, Evie suddenly stopped, her hand coming up to her mouth.

 

            “Oh, no…Geralt, no,” she whispered.

 

            The witcher didn’t say anything. Evie rushed forward and knelt by the body, but he just let go of her hand and simply stood where he was. As he looked at the scene before him, he sighed deeply and slightly shook his head. Eventually, he approached and stared down at Isaac’s tiny body, the boy’s chest clearly showing evidence that he’d been on the receiving end of a lethal, magical spell. With his clothes drenched by the rain, he somehow looked even smaller and more helpless than he normally did. Then, he heard his wife crying so he knelt down next to her and pulled her into a hug.

 

            “This is all my fault,” she said through sobs that were wracking her body. “He’s dead because of me.”

 

            Geralt didn’t say anything. He just held her tightly as she cried. He didn’t agree with her statement.  Clearly, all of this was the fault of Philippa Eilhart, but he knew that, at that point, simply holding her was the best thing he could do.  They could argue later, after she wasn’t so overcome by emotion, about who held the blame. One thing was sure, though. Philippa Eilhart had just replaced Emhyr var Emreis as the person that Geralt wanted to end the most. And the witcher made a promise to himself, then and there.  When this was all sorted out, if the sorceress was still alive, then he was going to find her, and justice would be done.

           

oOo

 

_Vizima, Temeria_

            Under the cover of darkness, Emperor Emhyr watched as hundreds of men loaded fifteen enormous, wooden boxes into wagons. Given the weight and size of the boxes, it took his men all night to complete the job. Emhyr sat atop his favorite steed, a dark black Nilfgaardian gelding.  He was no longer in ceremonial dress but, rather, wore his military uniform, including a sword on his hip.  As the sun peeked over the eastern horizon, he looked about. In addition to the loaded-down wagons, several companies of his men – both cavalry and infantry – were awaiting his orders. He looked at the Vizima palace, his home for the last two years, and he knew, one way or the other, he’d probably never see it again. He would either push forward or be repelled back, but he was no longer going to remain stationary. He gave the order, and the military cavalcade began moving west.


	9. Chapter 9

_Kaer Morhen_

“That’s a lot of bombs,” Evie commented. 

 

She was standing in the doorway of the downstairs lab, and her red-rimmed eyes were proof that she’d been recently crying.  It had been a hard day for everyone, including her.  Of the nine orphans who had arrived at Kaer Morhen, five had died during the battle and another, eleven-year-old Mabel, had been infected by Nikolai’s blood and was currently in her werelion form in a locked room upstairs with a battered and bruised Rien.  And except for Evie and Lydial, everyone else had suffered some type of injury.  Barcain had been injured perhaps the worst and was recuperating from a broken leg as a result of chunks of stone falling down on top of him.  Even with Geralt potions and Benny’s healing magic, it’d probably be at least two or three days before he could ride again.

 

            “Uh huh,” the witcher said with a nod. “I’m not going to be caught unprepared again.”

 

            “Are you blaming yourself for what happened?”

 

            “Logically…no.  I know that their blood is on Eilhart’s hands, but…I still _feel_ guilty. Like I…should have known it was going to happen, or…could have done something differently.”

 

            Evie nodded. “Yeah, me, too.  All I can think is that this is all my fault. If I had never taken the tome from Emhyr, they never would have died.”

           

            Geralt got up from where he was crafting his explosives and walked over to where Evie was standing.  He held her hand and slowly nodded his head.

 

            “You taking the tome is only one tiny piece of the jigsaw puzzle that was today’s events. But, you had no way of knowing what would happen here when you took it. All you knew was that if Emhyr got his hands on this weapon, then thousands – maybe tens of thousands - of lives would be lost. So… in my opinion, you made the best decision _at the time_ with the knowledge that you had _at the time_.  Wouldn’t you agree?”

 

            Evie nodded her head.

 

“And, anyway, it can’t be _all_ your fault because I can make the same argument.  If I had never offered Kaer Morhen as a place for Rien and the kids to stay, then they’d still be alive, too. Or if I had chosen to kill Thacker and his men that first night right there in Lydial’s room, or if I’d never taken us down into Ban Ard in the first place.  Everyone one of us can torture ourselves with the ‘if game’ until we’re filled with nothing but regret.”

 

            Evie nodded. “I know what you’re saying is true…but, then why do we both feel so guilty?”

 

            “Probably because we’re the adults, and they were just kids.  We were supposed to be responsible for them.”

 

            “Yeah…I was…” and then tears came to her eyes. “I was starting to already think of Isaac as ours.”

 

            The witcher pulled his wife into a hug.

 

            She sniffed a couple of times before saying, “But, it’s not just the two of us.  I know that all the rest feel guilty, too.”

 

            Geralt nodded. “Well, we all may _feel_ guilty, but that doesn’t mean we are.  Eilhart’s day will come. It’s got to…eventually.”

 

oOo

 

            Several hours later, the witcher finished crafting his bombs and ascended the stairs to the first floor.  He stopped when he unexpectedly heard the sound of a voice.  No one should have been down in the main hall.  Due to the damage from the battle, the survivors were all sleeping in the second-floor bedroom located in the tower, which fortunately still seemed to be structurally sound. 

 

As he walked quietly around some stacked boxes and towards the voice, he heard it say, “I praise you, Essea. You heal the brokenhearted and bind up our wounds. You are…”

 

Geralt took a final step forward and saw Lydial in the flickering shadows of the burning fireplace.  She was on her knees, with head bowed, and resting her forearms on a bench in front of her.  He stared at her a moment longer, finally shook his head, and turned away, not wanting to eavesdrop any longer on her prayer.  But, she’d heard him behind her.

 

“Geralt?” she asked.

 

“Yeah…it’s me,” he answered, stepping out of the shadows. “Sorry I disturbed you.”

 

“Oh, you didn’t. I couldn’t sleep so I’ve been down here for a while. How are you holding up?”

 

He nodded his head. “I’m okay.” And then he sighed. “I just…I hurt for Evie.  She’s taking everyone’s death – especially Isaac’s - pretty hard.  I don’t really know what to do for her except just hold her and listen.”

 

Lydial smiled. “That’s probably the best thing you could do for her. Well, that, and pray for her.” After a pause, she asked, “Would you like to pray together?”

 

He shook his head. “No…not particularly. No offense, it’s not you. It’s just…” He shook his head again, not finishing his thought.

 

“What is it, Geralt?”

 

He sighed and then walked over and sat on the bench near her. 

 

“Today – at the funerals – and just now, I heard you praising Essea. I’ll be honest, Lydial - I don’t understand how you can praise him in a time like this. I mean – he’s supposed to be this all-good, all-powerful God, right?”

 

“Yes. He is.”

 

“Then, how could he let what happened today take place? Five kids – who did no one any wrong - are dead. A little girl has been turned into a werelion. How can a _good_ , _loving_ God allow that to happen?  I’m starting to think he’s either _not_ all-loving or _not_ all-powerful. One of the two.”

 

Lydial nodded her head, sadness on her face. “I understand.”

 

“Do you?” the witcher said with furrowed brows.  “Because I sure as hell don’t.”

 

She smiled sadly, and then, she asked, “Has Evangeline told you of her biological grandfather?”

 

The witcher shook his head. “No.”

 

“Then, may I?”

 

He nodded. “Of course.”

 

“Dilis and I married when we were just teenagers…and, oh, how we loved each other.” Lydial paused and smiled at the thought.  “And, throughout our marriage, we longed for the day when I could finally conceive. We knew that we’d have to wait twenty-five or thirty years, but we figured that would just make having children all the more wonderful.

 

“When we were in our forties, we were living down in the Dol Blathanna valley. And, we – the Aen Seidhe – were facing a lot of persecution at the time. Which I guess is redundant to say, huh? When have we not, right?”

 

Geralt nodded his head but didn’t say anything.

 

“Humans came into the valley, and at first, things were mostly peaceful. But, when we refused to move or sell our land to them, they just starting using force. Raiding our towns, burning our homes. The typical.  The leaders of our community eventually had enough and decided to be more proactive, to take the fight to them.  Dilis was always great with a bow so he went out with the others. They were only supposed to be gone for a few weeks. While he and the others were away, men came into our small town…those of us that they didn’t kill, they beat and raped.  Dilis didn’t come back for several months, by which time I knew I was pregnant. I couldn’t believe it. I hadn’t even known I was capable of conceiving.”

 

Lydial paused for a moment. Geralt could see from her eyes that she was lost in thought.

 

“You know, I can’t even really remember what that man looks like now.  It’s been so long. I just remember, at the time, thinking that he looked so young,” she said, shaking her head.

 

“Anyway, afterwards, I was distraught…and angry. I can remember screaming at Essea.  Demanding to know why he’d let this happen to _me_ \- one of his most faithful followers. If he’s all-powerful, then he could have easily stopped that from ever happening.  So, why didn’t he? Did he not care for me? As you asked, why would a loving God let this happen?

 

“And my fellow Aen Seidhe didn’t help matters.  They considered my baby to be a mongrel mutt. Almost all of them urged me to I abort it.  A few even offered me special potions that would do the job. And, then, on top of all that, I was terrified of how Dilis would respond when he returned… _if_ he returned. At that point, as far as I knew, he was dead, which made me question how I was going to raise this ‘ _half-breed_ ’ on my own. Every day…every night, I screamed, cried, begged to Essea…to fix this somehow. I even considered, briefly, aborting the baby. But, I knew I couldn’t.  I knew how much Essea values life. And how could I end the life of this baby growing inside of me? It wasn’t her fault that this happened. She was just as much a victim as I was.  How was killing her fair to her? Despite my initial anger with God, I never stopped talking to him, and, eventually, I began asking him to simply to cover us with his blessings.

 

“So, I decided to keep her, and I found out quickly who my real friends were. Only my fellow Esseans were supportive.  The rest of the community looked down on me for wanting to bring a _mutt_ into the world. And, then one day, Dilis showed back up at our door, and I just broke down at the sight of him. I can remember just bawling in his arms – both out of relief and fear. How was he going to take this news? Would he hate me? Would he leave me? Would he despise the baby?

 

“And here is the most _amazing_ thing, Geralt. He told me that, several weeks before, he’d started having dreams…dreams of me holding a baby…and a voice in his dreams telling him to take her as his own. He said that, at first, he had no idea what the dreams were about. But, after seeing me, he understood. I remember crying uncontrollably…so overwhelmed that he wasn’t going to leave me…so overwhelmed that Essea would speak to him that way. Because I am convinced, to this day, that those dreams were the work of Essea. There is no other way to explain them.

 

“About a year later, I gave birth to a beautiful girl, Hannamiel, Evangeline’s mother. And I’ll admit that she had a rough childhood. She was ostracized a lot because of her mixed blood, but we loved her so much. Dilis treated her as if she truly was his. And we considered her a blessing, despite the horrific, unspeakable act that had caused it all. And she became even more of a blessing as the years passed since, no matter how much we tried, I couldn’t get pregnant again. And through her, I have three precious grandchildren that I love, and now I have you…my wonderful grandson-in-law.”

 

With that, she smiled and a tear rolled down her cheek. 

 

“And, I praise Essea for all of that,” she said as she patted the witcher on his knee.

 

Geralt didn’t say anything. He didn’t know what to say.

 

“Geralt, can I tell you what Essea taught me through that experience?”

 

He nodded his head “Please…do.”

 

 “I’ve come to see life as an enormous painting. A painting so large that it covers an entire wall of this castle, and I’m standing so close to it that my nose is touching it…so I can only make out one tiny part of the painting. The part right in front of me. But Essea…he sees the entire thing. And he doesn’t just see it, he’s the one that painted it.  So, I can’t see how all the different sections of the painting fit together. I can’t see what’s coming up tomorrow or ten years from now, but he does. And when I don’t understand…that’s when trust most comes into play.

 

“He has showed me that he is not only all-good and all-powerful but that he is also all-wise.  That his plans are too great for me to truly understand. In fact, it gives me peace to know that I worship a God whose ways are too intricate for me to fully comprehend.  I wouldn’t want a god that was no smarter than me. That’s not a comforting thought. 

 

“And because I trust him – trust that he is the all-wise, holy, just, loving, sovereign God - then I can praise him…even in heart-breaking circumstances…like today. I can praise him even when I don’t understand his plans. Trust me, Geralt – Essea works in and through the darkest storms of life. I’ve seen him do it, and his tomes tell of him doing it.”

 

“That’s why you have so much peace.” It was a statement not a question.

 

She nodded. “Because of his promises found in his scriptures, I believe that when I die, he will take me home to be with him…forever.  And that means that this world is as close to hell as I’ll ever come.  So…no matter how painful this life is or how cruel this world is, I know it won’t last forever.  And once you settle the issue of death, what else is there _really_ to worry about?  What’s the worst that man can do to us – kill us? Okay. That just means I get to go live in the presence of Essea.”

 

Geralt was simply staring at Lydial, taking in everything she was saying, when he suddenly heard something coming from the direction of the tower and looked up. A few seconds later, his wife came into view.

 

“Geralt?” Evie asked.

 

He got up and went to her.

 

“Yeah. I’m here. Is something wrong?”

 

“No. I just woke up and you were still gone. I thought I’d come sit with you in the lab.”

 

“Well, I’m all done down there. I was just visiting with Lydial.”

 

“Oh…okay. Do you want me to leave you two alone?”

 

“No, baby, I want to be with you. Let’s go to bed.” He then turned back. “Goodnight, Lydial…and thanks.”

 

She smiled. “Anytime, Geralt.”

 

            A few minutes later, they walked into their bedroom on the third floor of the tower and moved over to the bed. The witcher hadn’t been in there since the battle had begun almost twenty-four hours earlier.  He looked at the bedside table and noticed that his copy of the Essean tome was missing. He then looked to her side of the bed but didn’t see it there either.

 

            “Evie, did you already pack up my Essean tome?”

 

            She looked at the witcher and shook her head. “No. I haven’t seen it since yesterday. I thought that you had it.” Then, her eyes went wide. “Do you not have it?”

 

            He stared into Evie’s eyes and simply shook his head, his jaws clenching in anger.     

 

oOo

 

            “It’s still dark, Geralt. I thought we were leaving at sun-up,” said a yawning Benny. 

 

            “Change of plans. We think Philippa took my copy of the tome when she was here…so we need to move with a bit more haste,” replied the witcher.

 

            “Damn…that means she knows where the Sword…rod…whatever is?” asked the mage as he got to his feet and starting looking for his trousers.

 

            “Evie says no. Tome doesn’t specifically indicate where it’s located.  If it did, we’d have gone straight there. Evie says that it just gives clues.  She, honestly, isn’t that concerned that Philippa has the book. Says the only way Philippa will find the Sword before we do is if she is a better historian than Evie.  Evie’s less _worried_ and more pissed off…since it was her wedding present to me,” Geralt finished with a smile. “But, I’d feel better if we left now. I know Philippa. She’s a resourceful witch, and I’d never underestimate her.”

 

            Benny nodded. “Yeah, after the display she put on yesterday, me neither,” he replied, putting on his boots.

 

            There was a moment of silence as the sorcerer continued to dress.

 

            “Hey…Benny?”

           

            “Yeah?” Benny asked, looking up from lacing his boots.

 

            “I never thanked you yesterday…for sacrificing yourself for my wife.  She told me that you jumped in front of Philippa’s spell.”

 

            “Ah,” said Benny waving his hand. “It was just a stunning spell.”

 

            “Yeah, but you didn’t know that at the time, did you?”

 

            The mage looked at the witcher for a moment before shaking his head.

 

            “Exactly.  So…thank you, Benny.  I owe you,” said Geralt, reaching his hand forward.

 

            “Hey…that’s what friends do,” replied the sorcerer, shaking his hand.

 

oOo

 

_Daevon, Kaedwen_

 

            Fringilla Vigo had been renting a room at the Twisted Root Inn for five days, by which time she had started to hate not only the run-down tavern but also the dirty, depressing town and every uncouth bumpkin in it. She honestly didn’t know why the insignificant, little town even existed.  Why had it ever been formed in the first place?  The thought of calling down hail and fire on the entire gods-forsaken area brought a smile to her face. It didn’t help her mood than she was not wearing her typical attire.  Every time she caught sight of herself in a reflective surface, she involuntarily made a face.  She thought she looked like a farmer’s wife.  Of course, that’s what she was intending, given that she was in Radovid-controlled territory.  She knew her usual ensemble screamed, “Witch!” Regardless, the Nilfgaardian sorceress had a very sour disposition. Oh, the hardships she was willing to go through for her country, she thought seriously to herself.

 

 As the sorceress spent hour after hour on the inn’s front porch looking down the road towards the south, she alternated between being frustrated, angry, and concerned – but mostly angry.  Malek and his men were at least three or four days behind schedule. Why hadn’t he used the megascope to contact her – to let her know of his location or, at least, of his new arrival time?  After day two of her wait, she “borrowed” a horse and started riding southwest out of Daevon, hoping to perhaps come upon them somewhere on the road.  A half a day’s ride later, she came to the pass in the Kestral Mountains.  She, obviously, noticed the rock slide, but she also noticed a few arrows and crossbow bolts embedded here and there in the soil. She dismounted her horse, teleported higher into the mountains, and investigated the scene.  She found no bodies, but she did notice dried blood splattered about on the rocks and soil.

 

She returned to the Twisted Root, not knowing exactly what else to do.  She had no way of finding Malek or knowing what had happened to him. And that’s when, much to her surprise, her anger seemed to turn to concern. Why would she be feeling a sense of anxiety, she thought to herself. Was she truly concerned with Malek’s safety and well-being?  She was confused by that possibility, for she had sworn years ago never to let her feelings for a man interfere with the greater plan. Her time with Geralt of Rivia in Toussaint had taught her that lesson.  If anything, she should welcome Malek’s death, knowing that it would greatly hinder Emhyr’s plan to find – well, to find whatever he was searching for.  But for some reason, the thought of Malek lying dead put a frown on her face. 

 

            Choosing not to contemplate the matter any longer, the Nilfgaardian sorceress decided that she’d give Malek one more day.  After that, she’d teleport back to Vizima and see if she could discover anything new there. And it was at that point that she saw a group of men riding hard from the south with a cloud of dust trailing behind them.  Moments later, she recognized the riders heading in her direction so she walked out into the middle of the road.  Within a minute, Malek and his men halted their horses, the dust cloud blowing forward past them and into Fringilla. Seeing the sorceress standing before him, he nodded his head.

 

            “Didn’t think you’d still be here.”

 

            “I promised to help you. So, here I am,” she replied with a smile.

 

            “Then, grab a horse. We’re going to Kaer Morhen.”

 

            Fringilla was conflicted. A part of her was pleased to see Malek was alive, but another was disturbed that he seemed to have a lead on his task. Not knowing exactly how she felt, she simply kept the smile on her face.

 

            “You all – and your horses – look completely exhausted.  At least, stop here for a bit to eat and give your horses a rest.  It doesn’t look like much, but the inn offers some delicious stew,” she lied.

 

            Malek looked around at his men and their mounts and sighed. He finally nodded his head and said, “One hour…and then we ride again.”

 

oOo

 

_Tretogor, Redania_

 

            “Roche, you won’t believe it,” said Ves, entering the Temerian’s command center located in a cave in the hills.

 

            Roche sighed. There was no telling what was going to come out of his lieutenant’s mouth.

 

            “What now?”

 

            “Another platoon of Redanians left the palace in a very big hurry.”

 

            “Toward Kaedwen again?”

 

            “No, heading due north.”

 

            When Roche didn’t immediately say anything, she asked, “Think it’s got anything to do with Geralt and that Nilfgaardian historian again?”

 

            “I don’t know, but this time…I’m going, as well,” he answered, while grabbing his gear.  “Let’s gather some men.”

 

oOo

 

_The Pontar River_

 

            Private Kilmer, an infantry man of the Redanian army, was yawning in his covered foxhole. He had been standing watch in what he considered to be the worst part of day – the three to six am shift.  He was a member of the Third Infantry Division, known affectionately as the Bulldogs, and they had been tasked with defending the Pontar River from just east of Oxenfurt all the way to just west of Rinde.  In the last year, Kilmer and his fellow soldiers – over three thousand strong – had fought countless skirmishes with the Nilfgaardians for this territory. It was vital that Redania hold this particular area of its border, for just a day’s ride north was Tretogor, the capital and current residence of King Radovid. Truth be told, though, Kilmer considered himself more of a spectator than an actual combatant.  He and his fellow brothers of the infantry had done virtually no fighting since the Redania’s superior long-range weapons of destruction had kept the Black Ones from ever reaching, much less crossing, the river itself.  Therefore, Kilmer just did a lot of watching – and he was just fine with that. 

 

            As the sun came up and shed light on the country side below, Kilmer, at first, didn’t even notice anything out of the ordinary.  After six or seven months, he’d gotten used to simply seeing the same thing every day – specifically, the Black Ones encamped far away on a hilltop, just out of range of the Redanians’ ballistae, catapults, and trebuchets.  But, suddenly, he did a double-take.  This morning, the hilltops and meadows on the southern side of the river were free of the enemy for as far as his eyes could see.  He shook his head in bewilderment as he realized that sometime during the night, the entire Nilfgaardian division had quietly retreated.

 

            He turned and kicked his foxhole buddy in the foot.

 

            “Wake up, Smitty!”

 

            “Wassa…uh,” his comrade mumbled.

 

            “Get up! We’ve got to tell Captain Theissman about this.”

 

oOo

 

_Gors Velen_

            Emperor Emhyr var Emreis stood on the docks and watched with a critical eye as the fifteen, heavy crates were loaded carefully on the decks of the largest ships in his fleet.  Countless, enormous black sails emblazed with a golden sun filled his vision as he looked into the harbor and beyond – into the Great Sea.  As he watched several thousand of his troops board his sea-going vessels, he nodded his head slowly to himself, pleased that, so far, his final plan was proceeding as expected. He reached both hands into the pockets of his trousers, each hand caressing a metallic disc – smooth on one side and grooved on the other.  Just the touch of the objects on his fingers fortified his resolve. He nodded his head again, telling himself that he had no other option – not if he wanted to retain his throne, and certainly not if he wanted to cement his legacy. For he knew, better than any, that his eventual legacy and reputation would be far more influenced by how he ended his reign than by how he had started it. No one cared how or where you started - only in how you finished, and he refused to go out whimpering, ineffectual, and impotent.

 

oOo

_Kestral Mountains_

            “But I thought the word for ‘follow’ was ‘aecaemm?’” asked Geralt, looking down at the Essean tome and then at Evie.

 

            “It is, Geralt. But, again, the Elder Speech that you know and that the Aen Seidhe currently use is slightly different.”

 

            Geralt and Evie were riding on the front bench of the covered wagon – Evie with the reins in her hands and the book in Geralt’s. Lydial was in the back with the supplies while Benny and Barcain were bringing up the rear on their respective horses. Roach, with her reins tied to the back of the wagon, was following along and would, to Lydial’s amusement, occasionally poke her head through the split-canvas flap that covered the back opening to eyeball Lydial. She knew that, more than likely, the horse was just looking for food.

 

They’d departed Kaer Morhen three days ago, and earlier that morning, they’d traveled around the city of Leyda and headed west through the Kestral Mountains, towards Redania. They had already reached the summit of the western ridge of the mountain chain, but before they could crest the other, they’d first have to descend into a narrow valley – a valley in which almost the entire width was covered by the deep, rushing waters of the Nimnar River.

 

            The witcher exhaled with frustration.

 

            “Damn it. I’m never going to get this,” he said, shaking his head. “Why was learning languages so much easier when I was a kid?”

 

            “I don’t know. Maybe you had a better teacher?” she teased.

 

            The witcher made a face. “Hardly. Old Kalen - he was a nasty piece of work.”

 

            “I thought Vesemir was your instructor?” asked Evie.

 

            Geralt shook his head. “Just with weapons, mostly. That was his specialty. But, I had other teachers for the other disciplines – alchemy, Signs, explosives, physical training, book learning, so forth. Though, there was a lot of cross-training that went on.”

 

            “Were you ever an instructor?”

 

            “No…I mean, with other than Ciri, no.”

 

            “Why not? I thought you were the best – the famous White Wolf. I’d think you’d be a great teacher,” she said with a smile.

           

            Geralt smirked at his wife. “Well, even if that were true – that I was the best – that doesn’t necessarily mean I’d be a good teacher.  There are a lot of people who are good at what they do, who can’t teach worth a damn.”

 

            “That’s true,” she said nodding her head. “So, you didn’t teach because you were lousy at it?” she asked, still smiling.

 

            “No, _Professor_ …because there wasn’t anyone _to_ teach.”

 

            “What? Why?”

           

            “Typically, witchers come in from the Path during the winter months, when monsters hibernate.  But, one year, I was late returning to Kaer Morhen. I got caught down in the southern part of the Continent with a long run of good luck. Seemed like every town I came to had an open contract. Winter was approaching and I tried heading north, but like I said, I was getting stopped in every town.  So, I actually stayed in the south that winter…during which a pogrom occurred at Kaer Morhen. Killed almost every witcher there, even the kids.  Also killed Festus, the sorcerer that was there that helped with the Trial of Grasses.” Geralt paused for a moment, shaking his head.  “The lynch mob must have been enormous to take down a bunch of trained witchers and a mage.  I honestly don’t know how they even knew how to find our keep in the first place. But, regardless, they burned a lot of tomes…did their best to wreck the place. When I finally returned a year later, there was only a handful of us left.  Vesemir had repaired the place best he could. Found copies of old bestiaries and texts to partially restore our library.  But, the specifics on how to create witchers were lost forever. Vesemir was the only instructor left alive…and he only knew the rudimentary steps, but it wouldn’t have mattered anyway since our sorcerer was dead. So…” Great shrugged. “I simply never had anyone _to_ teach…until Ciri came along…and then Isaac.”

 

            Evie was quiet for a while. “Damn it, Geralt,” she said sadly.

 

            “What is it?”

 

            “Do you have any happy stories or memories?”

 

It hurt Evie to know that her husband’s psyche and soul were as scarred as his body.

 

            He was silent for a moment and then slowly shook his head.

 

“I’ve got to have a few, right?” he asked rhetorically. “But, even the happy ones – of Ciri, Vesemir…others – are all tinged with sadness.”  

 

At that point, he looked off into the mountains, lost in his thoughts. 

 

“I’ve had too many goodbyes in my life,” he eventually said. “I’ll be honest – I’m getting tired of them.” 

 

He then smiled wistfully and looked at Evie.

 

“You know, to me, that’s what heaven would be…the place where you never have to say goodbye.”

 

            She nodded her head and then leaned into Geralt, hugging his arm.

 

            “Well, husband, I’m never telling you goodbye. Okay?” And then she hugged him tighter.

 

            “Sounds like heaven to me,” he said, looking down at woman next to him. “I don’t think I’ve told you today…that I love you.”

 

            “I love you, too, Geralt.”

 

oOo

 

_Kaer Morhen, Kaedwen_

            “Good morning,” greeted Malek in a friendly tone and wearing his most charming smile.

 

            Rien, Gretel, and the remaining, non-infected orphans – Lukas, Tressa, and nine-year-old Erasmus – had been sitting and eating breakfast at a table near the large fireplace inside the partially-standing castle, but they had all risen to their feet upon hearing approaching footsteps.

 

            Malek and his men had entered the keep’s grounds earlier that morning and had spent several hours spying on the castle. Given the absence of walls and a ceiling it wasn’t difficult for his men placed in various positions to get a clear view inside. To his disappointment, it appeared that his niece was no longer on the premises.

 

            “Good…good morning,” stammered Gretel, looking nervously at both the giant of a man and the men spread out on either side of him. “Would…you and your men like some breakfast?”

 

            Malek genuinely smiled. “No, thank you, Miss, but I do appreciate your hospitality.”

 

            He paused and looked at the five youth in front of him, the four eldest looking at him with suspicious eyes. He made a quick decision on how he was going to play this situation, knowing that the best lies were the ones that were composed of ninety percent truth.

 

            “I’m not going to insult your intelligence. We are not lost nor here by accident. I am looking for my niece.  I believe she was here. Her name is Evangeline.”

 

            “You mean, Evie?” asked Erasmus.

 

            Immediately, Tressa hissed in a low tone, “Erasmus.” When he looked up at his sister, she was glaring at him.

 

            Malek’s eyes turned to the young boy.

 

“Yes, she sometimes goes by Evie. So…clearly she was here.”

 

Malek then continued speaking, but he paused and peered closely at each one as he spoke.

 

            “She has gotten herself into a bit of a predicament, and I’d like to help her out of it.”

 

            When no one responded, Malek continued.

 

            “So, do any of you know where she was headed?”

 

Still, no one answered.

 

            “What about you, little man? Do you know where Evie was going next?”

 

            Tressa grabbed Erasmus by the shirt and pulled him closer. He looked up at his sister and then back at Malek.  He shook his head vigorously.

 

            The smile on Malek’s face vanished. He breathed in very deeply, very slowly, and then exhaled the same.

 

“I was afraid that would be your answer.”

 

He turned his head slightly to his left but never took his eyes off of the five in front of him, especially on Rien.  Years of experience told Malek that he was the most dangerous of the bunch.

 

“The blonde,” he stated simply. At which point, his men moved forward, two of them grabbing Tressa and the rest drawing weapons against Rien, Lukas, Gretel and Erasmus. Malek waiting patiently until all the yelling and screaming finally ceased, and once there was quiet, he spoke again in a very calm voice.

 

“I was hoping that at least one of you would see reason. But, alas…”

 

He then looked into their eyes.

 

“Believe me, I take no pleasure in this. I would have preferred that you simply tell me where she went and then we could be on our way.  But, know this – Evie holds the key to something incredibly valuable.  It is more valuable than your lives…even more valuable than mine. It is more valuable than _any_ person’s life who is walking this planet. Therefore, I am willing to kill you to get it…to make sure that it does not fall into the wrong hands. Understood?”

 

His eyes rested on those of Erasmus.

 

“So, I will ask one more time.  Does anyone know where she went?”

 

When no one answered, he looked at the two men holding Tressa.

 

“Hold her against that column,” he ordered.

 

Fringilla Vigo watched the two men drag the screaming Tressa over to one of the few still-standing columns within the castle and, with one man on each arm, pulled her back tightly against it. During this entire sequence, the sorceress had stood back, watching and listening, but not saying a word.  She was incredibly conflicted but her face remained of mask of stoicism. She was confident that she could brew up a special elixir that would act as a truth serum.  Give her an hour, and she’d have the five giving up all their secrets. However, she clearly wasn’t going to help Malek succeed on the Emperor’s mission. That said, she also didn’t particularly want to see an innocent girl die, either. 

 

The emotion that she was feeling the most, though, was surprise. She was surprised that Malek would do this.  She thought him to be a man of _certain_ principles. She shook her head slightly, realizing, once again, that while she was a highly-skilled sorceress, she was horrible at reading people, and she chastised herself for being so foolish. Malek had been Emhyr’s right hand for decades.  He wouldn’t have attained, much less held, that position for so long if he wasn’t as ruthless as the Emperor himself.

 

Malek then turned to the man next to him and grabbed his crossbow.

 

Gretel yelled, “We don’t know! We don’t know! They didn’t tell us where they were going!”

 

            Malek peered at her and sighed.  “We shall see shortly if you’re telling the truth.”

 

And then he brought the crossbow up to his shoulder, aiming the weapon at Tressa. He looked at her four friends one last time, and then turned his eyes back to his target.

 

“Rien.”

 

The name was spoken softly, but everyone heard it and looked at Tressa. She was no longer struggling against her captors and was staring directly at the long-haired young man.

 

“Avenge me,” she said, barely above a whisper.

 

She then turned her calm eyes towards Malek’s.

 

“I don’t want to _have_ to avenge you,” Rien said looking at Tressa. He then, too, looked at Malek. “Please don’t kill her. I’ll tell you what I know. They didn’t tell us where they were heading, but…I overhead them talking one day. I think I know where they were going.”

 

Malek did not lower his weapon, but he did speak.

 

“Know this – I have a general idea of where they are headed, just not the specifics. Therefore, if you choose to lie to me…if you choose to tell me that they are heading to the Skellige Islands or to Povis or any other nonsensical location, then I will know it’s a lie and I will kill this girl.”

 

“They were going to Novigrad,” replied Rien in a defeated voice.

 

“For what purpose?” asked Malek.

 

“I don’t know exactly. I just heard her say that she needed to ask some guy a few questions regarding a book.”

 

Malek didn’t say anything for several long seconds, his finger still on the crossbow’s trigger.

 

Finally, he stated, “You have chosen…wisely, for which I am grateful.” And he lowered the crossbow.

 

Five minutes later, Malek, Fringilla and the rest walked out of what was left of the Kaer Morhen castle.

 

“Would you really have killed her, Malek?” Fringilla asked as they descended some steps.

 

Malek turned to face the sorceress but kept walking.

 

“I’m surprised you’d ask that. I thought you knew me well by now,” he answered neutrally.

 

Before she could respond, he asked, “So…Novigrad…coming with us?”

 

“Ugh…I’d really like to just teleport there, but I’m afraid I’d never see you again. You clearly don’t know how to arrive on schedule,” she replied, thinking of her unbearable, five-day wait in Daevon.

 

“Yes, my apologies for that,” he said. “It seems that, no matter how much I plan, life unfortunately still requires much improvisation and flexibility. But, cheer up…in this case, I am going to acquiesce to your desires.  A portal would be best.”

 

Though her face didn’t betray it, Fringilla was surprised. She didn’t say anything, but she did turn to look at Malek.

 

“They apparently have a three’s day head start,” Malek explained. “I’d like to be waiting for them when they get there.”

 

Once the group had reached their mounts, Malek turned to the rest.

 

“Miss Vigo will open a portal to Novigrad, which Timataal, Delkith, and I will be using.  The rest of you will ride there as quickly as possible.  It should take you around five days.  Our rendezvous will be the Seven Cats Inn east of the city. If we are not there when you arrive, just wait.  One of us will check for your arrival at three o’clock each afternoon.”

 

 They all discussed the plan in detail for a few more minutes, and once Malek had answered all questions, he turned to Fringilla.

 

“Miss Vigo, a portal, if you’d please.”

 

 

oOo

 

_Kestral Mountains_

 

            Vatslav – the once proclaimed, “Arm-Wrestling King of the North” - wasn’t as old as Geralt, but he certainly looked older.  His face – the color of deep mahogany and creased more deeply than a wrinkled napkin - was a testament to the fact that he had spent the entirety of his seventy plus years outdoors, weathering the effects of the sun and wind.  When he was in his early twenties, he had built a small shack on an elevated piece of land just east of the bridge that crossed the Nimnar River, and that shack had served as both his residence and a general store for the last five decades. He provided most of his sustenance through hunting and fishing, but he’d barter and trade specialty goods – especially tobacco and whiskey - with all the folks that used that particular pass in the mountains while travelling to and from Redania and Kaedwen.

 

            Not long after he had established his home in the mountains, the dilapidated bridge that spanned the river finally fell due to heavy flooding from a particularly violent storm, with the majority of the bridge washing away downstream. But instead of viewing the incident as a disaster, the optimistic Vatslav looked to turn it into a profit.  It had taken him months to do so, but he eventually used the timber from what was remaining of the bridge to build a large, flat-bottomed ferry, to which he affixed a rope – as thick as a man’s arm – that he securely tied off to both sides of the river.  Since then, he’d charged a small toll to ferry travelers from one bank to the other, and over the decades, that enterprise had not only beefed up his coffers but also his muscles, allowing him to defeat virtually all challengers in arm-wrestling contests for about a thirty-year span.   

 

The day that he was finally vanquished – roughly fifteen years past – Vatslav had, with a knowing smile, heartily congratulated the victor, for he had always known the day of his defeat would eventually come. Just as he’d seen in the last fifty years the incessant wind and rain gradually erode and transform the rocky cliffs of the Kestral Mountains, he too had felt time taking its toll on his body. For time always won out. It had an undefeated record. That was a lesson that all mortal creatures eventually learned. The strong, straight backs of today’s youth were the curved, brittle spines of tomorrow. The shiny eyes, bright smiles and flawless complexion of today’s fair maidens were hidden in the wiry, silver hair, the spotted skin, and the stained teeth of tomorrow’s aged. Some faced that lesson with humility and a calm acceptance while others angrily railed against it. But regardless, it was a lesson everyone learned – the one group left with a tranquil peace afterwards and the latter left bitter and depressed. If anyone had asked Vatslav where he stood, a smile would have come to his mouth – a mouth both full of tobacco and empty of half its teeth – and he would have stated that he definitely fell in with the former group.

 

            Vatslav, sitting in a rocking chair on the small, roofed porch of his hut, heard the sound of horses’ hooves and wagon wheels coming from the dirt trail to his right. Seconds later, he saw a single, covered wagon come into view, accompanied by two individual riders on horseback.  He peered at the man and woman driving the wagon. The two mounted riders and the woman were complete strangers, but his eyes lingered on the man on the wagon’s seat, and he exhaled slowly. The man looked quite different from the last time Vatslav had seen him – shorter hair, scar somehow concealed, and swords missing from his back. But, the man was clearly the Butcher of Blaviken.  The witcher had used the pass countless times over the course of his life, and over the years, Vatslav and Geralt had formed a mutual respect – a respect grounded in the fact that they were both simple – yet not simplistic – men.   More times than not, when the witcher would pass through, the two men would spend hours drinking, smoking, and playing cards together – many times in relative silence. 

 

            As the wagon approached, Vatslav stood up from his chair, both his back and knees popping.  He spat over the railing of the porch, his slimy, caramel-colored glob of saliva splattering on the ground below, and then he slowly walked down the two steps and out towards his latest customers. As he got close enough to confirm that the man was indeed the witcher, he tried to smile, but he knew it looked more like a grimace. For once, he wasn’t pleased to see the White Wolf.

 

            “Hello, _strangers_!” he said, emphasizing the last word.

 

            Geralt hopped down from the wagon and shook the old man’s hand.

 

            “Greetings, Vatslav,” he said with a nod.

 

            “Geralt, get on the ferry as fast as possible. You hear me?” he said in a whisper.

 

            The witcher didn’t bother to ask questions. He just nodded his head, jumped back onto the wagon, and snapped the reins. As they approached the river, Vatslav walked right next to the wagon and used its sound to disguise their conversation.

 

            “What’s going on, Vatslav?” the witcher asked in a hushed tone, his eyes scanning the land on both sides of the trail.

 

            “Redanian soldiers came through here earlier this morning. They stopped and asked if I’d recently seen a party of five – two women, three men - in a single covered wagon.  That didn’t really get my attention. But, then…they specifically mentioned your name. What in the name of Lebioda’s saggy ball-sack have you gotten yourself into this time?”

 

            “Redanians?” asked Geralt in surprise. “Are you sure?”

 

            Vatslav didn’t even bother answering. He just looked at the witcher with a cocked eyebrow.

 

            “Right.”

 

            “Geralt,” hissed Evie in a whisper. “What do the Redanians want with us? How do they even know where we are?”

 

            Geralt shook his head but didn’t answer as he was now focused on getting the wagon onto the ferry.  Once it was on, he quickly jumped off the seat and helped Vatslav make preparations for the trip across – untying a secondary line and raising the ramp.

 

            “How long ago were they here?” he asked Vatslav while pulling up the stabilizing anchor.

 

            “Three or four hours ago.”

 

            “And then they headed west?”

 

            “No, east…towards Leyda.”

 

            Upon hearing this, the witcher was confused. 

 

            “That can’t be.  We would’ve run into them. Unless…”

 

            And, then, as the ferry was just pulling away from the bank, the White Wolf looked up to see a large group of Redanian soldiers walking slowly down the trail towards the river’s edge, each with a crossbow in hand.  Vatslav continued to pull the large raft towards the western side, but Geralt didn’t help him.  He just stared at the soldiers who were all lined up along the river bank. His muscles were tense, and he was prepared to immediately cast a Quen dome around them all if the soldiers suddenly decided to unleash their arrows.

 

            “Geralt, if they were waiting for us, then why didn’t they confront us or attack us when they had the chance?” asked Benny.

 

            Geralt just shook his slowly.

 

            “I don’t know.”

 

And then a thought came to the witcher’s mind, and he quickly turned and walked to the other end of the ferry, the rest following him. Roughly a hundred feet away, on the western bank, he saw another cluster of Redanian soldiers slowly coming out of hiding and walking towards the river.  They were also armed with crossbows.

 

“Great. Thought so,” said Benny sarcastically.

 

            Upon seeing this, Geralt called out, “Vatslav, stop pulling.”

 

            The old man, with his head down, had been pulling on the rope with all his might.  He looked up and saw that, now, both banks were full of Redanians.

 

            As the river’s strong current pushed against the ferry, Geralt spoke up.

 

            “Benny, you asked why they didn’t attack on the bank.  If you were going to fight a witcher, then your best chance would be to take away his ability to use his sword and his superior physical skills, right?”

 

            “Yeah.”

           

            “Well, look where they got me…us. In the middle of a river.”

 

            “So, what do they want?” asked Lydial.

 

            Before anyone could answer, they all heard a voice from the bank.

 

            “Witcher!  Give us the historian! The rest of you can go on your way!”

 

            “How the hell do they even know about me?” asked Evie with a panicked tone.

 

            “I don’t know,” he said looking into his wife’s eyes. “But, they’re not getting their hands on you.”

 

            “So, what are we going to do?” asked Barcain.

 

            They all, instinctively, looked at the witcher, whose eyes were scanning his surroundings in every direction.  As he looked downstream, he noticed that the river’s narrow banks quickly disappeared, with the water simply bordered on each side by sheer rock faces that reached a hundred-foot high.  He nodded his head slowly a few times, and then walked over to Roach and unsheathed his steel sword.  He turned and looked at the rest.

 

            “It could be nasty downriver…I hope you all know how to swim.”

 


	10. Chapter 10

_Kestral Mountains_

            “I’ll pay you back,” said Geralt – with sword in hand - looking over at Vatslav.

 

            The old man spit into the river and looked back at the witcher with a smile.

 

            “Cut it already. Let’s get this started.”

 

            Geralt gave a quick nod of his head and then looked at the others. 

 

“Find cover. They might start shooting as soon as I cut the rope.”

 

After seeing his five traveling companions hunker down behind the thick ferry gate or under the wagon, he cast a Quen Sign and then sliced through the heavy rope with a single swing of his sword.  Immediately, the two pieces fell slack and the strong current pushed the ferry south toward the narrowing river canyon. Sure enough, upon seeing the ferry floating away, the Redanian soldiers raised their crossbows.  Geralt moved quickly to stand in front of the two horses that were hitched to the wagon and prepared to cast a Quen dome to protect them, but the barrage of bolts and arrows never came. He peered closely at the soldiers standing on the banks, and suddenly they all lowered their weapons. He hadn’t heard the order over the noise of the river, but he’d seen one soldier’s mouth move and assumed that he’d been the one to give the command.  The White Wolf continued staring at the officer in charge until the current had taken the ferry out of the crossbows’ range. At which point, the Redanians all turned around and ran upward into the wooded mountains.

 

“Why didn’t they shoot?” asked Evie.

 

The witcher shook his head. “Don’t know. Maybe they didn’t want to accidentally hit you.”

 

“Then, where are they going?”

 

“Don’t know that either, but if I had to guess…probably going to try and catch us somewhere down river.”

 

He then turned to Vatslav.

 

“Are there dangerous rapids ahead?”

 

The old man shrugged. “Wouldn’t call ‘em dangerous…though, I suppose the ferry might break up if we crash into the rocks hard enough. I’d recommend that you unharness the horses from the wagon just in case.”

 

Geralt nodded and then looked at Lydial and Evie. “You two handle that.”

 

He then went to his saddle bags and grabbed as much rope as he could find. He turned to Benny and Barcain and tossed it to them.

 

“Tie each wagon wheel off to the ferry’s railing.  I want to stabilize it as much as possible before we go through any rapids. Cut the rope into pieces if you have to.”

 

As everyone went about completing the tasks at hand, Geralt looked up and around him. The cliffs towered overhead at least a hundred feet high on both sides of the river.  While not quite vertical, the escarpments were still very steep and rocky.   Thus, the witcher didn’t think it would be possible for any of the Redanians to ambush them from above. He saw that there was no bank on either side of the river either.  Therefore, if the enemy was going to pursue them, then they’d have to do so along the cliff tops. 

 

“We’ve got company!” shouted Benny, bringing Geralt out of his thoughts. 

 

The witcher looked over at the sorcerer, who was pointing back up river.  Sitting or kneeling in a wide, flat-bottomed raft just thirty feet away were a half-dozen Redanians – two of which had oars in hand and were paddling hard while the other four had crossbows drawn.  The smaller raft was gaining fast.

 

“Everybody take cover!” yelled Barcain, who immediately moved to the down-river side of the wagon.

 

Geralt, without any cover to hide behind, simply cast a Quen Sign and then crouched down to minimize the chance of being hit.   Suddenly, several crossbow bolts either whistled through the air as they passed by or produced a heavy “thunking” noise as they imbedded in the wood of the wagon or ferry.  The noise produced by the projectiles agitated all the horses, causing them to emit shrill, fearful cries.

 

            Still crouching down, the witcher reached up to his bandolier and grabbed a Grapeshot bomb.  He was about to toss it towards the middle of the approaching raft when he realized that a second, floating craft could come in handy.  He let go of the shrapnel-producing explosive and grasped hold of a Devil’s Puffball instead. As he stood, the enemy shot another volley of bolts, two of which impacted his Quen shield, producing a small explosion of orange sparks and a banging noise, like two pans smacking together. While no longer active, the shield had served its purpose, and the witcher, ignoring the noise from the frightened horses behind him, stood unharmed and tossed the poison-gas bomb at the smaller vessel.  It detonated on impact, and almost immediately, the soldiers on board began gasping for air, clutching at their throats.  They all quickly dove over the sides and into the river. Geralt watched dispassionately as the soldiers – their nervous systems impaired by the poison – splashed and floundered in the water.  Even without the effects of the poisonous gas, given that they were wearing thick armor, it would have been difficult for any of them to stay afloat.  However, there was one soldier who seemed to be making a hearty attempt.  Whenever his head would break the surface of the water, Geralt could see that his eyes were wide with panic and focused on the ferry. The witcher suddenly had an idea, picked up a long line of rope at his feet, and tossed it at the frantic man.  The Redanian swiped at the life-line and just as his hand grasped it tightly, a crossbow bolt suddenly plunged into his eye and he quickly submerged out of sight. The witcher turned to his left to see Barcain holding an empty crossbow.

 

            “What the hell, Barcain? I was going to question him. Couldn’t you see I was trying to save him?”

 

            The ex-Nilfgaardian soldier looked back at Geralt and shrugged.

 

“Sorry,” he said. “I didn’t know that’s what you were trying to do,” he replied before turning away.

 

            The witcher stared hard at Barcain as he walked back to the other side of the ferry.  He shook his head several times and then pulled the loose rope into his hand.  He tied off one end to the railing and then dove into the river and swam towards the raft.  It was only the witcher’s incredible strength that kept him from drowning under the weight of his armor and weapons.  Once aboard, he pulled himself and the raft toward the ferry using the rope and then fastened it to the larger vessel, allowing the smaller craft to trail ten feet behind.   

 

            “What do you plan to do with my raft?” asked Vatslav as the witcher climbed back aboard the ferry.

 

            “Not sure, yet,” answered Geralt. “But, I’d rather have it and not need it than need it and not have it.”

 

oOo

 

            After watching the ferry drift down river, the Redanians on the west bank – the Redanian side of the river - turned and ran back towards their mounts. As they moved up into the wooded area, near their horses, the group wasn’t even aware of an unseen enemy, and they were suddenly hit with a barrage of crossbow bolts. Almost all of Radovid’s soldiers immediately fell dead. One lay on the ground, moaning but still alive.

 

            “What now, Roche?” asked Ves.

 

            “Let’s question the survivor.  Then, we’ll see whether or not we should help the witcher,” he answered back. 

           

oOo

 

            During the Redanians’ approach of the ferry on the smaller craft, Evie had been crouched down behind the wheel of the wagon, hoping to avoid being impaled by a crossbow bolt.  Right after she had watched the witcher dive into the water, she had heard an ominous-sounding crash coming from the other side of the wagon.  She peered underneath and saw Roach had fallen to her side. Blood was slowly spreading out onto the ferry’s wooden deck from some unseen wound.  She immediately moved to the other side of the wagon, but since she was unsure what to do for the large animal, she decided to simply wait for Geralt’s return.  She watched the witcher climb back aboard the ferry, heard him speak quickly with Vatslav, and then stared at him closely as he looked down at his mare.

 

Roach, wild-eyed, was whinnying loudly and was struggling – and failing – to stand. A bolt had pierced the canon of her front leg, just under the knee area.  Every time she put weight on that leg, she’d collapse back down to the deck of the ferry with a heavy thud. She also had a second bolt protruding from her neck, out of which flowed a slow and steady pulse of blood. Tears began to well in Evie’s eyes as she watched the beautiful horse struggling so. When she looked at her husband and saw the pain on his face, the tears fell down her cheeks.

 

She moved forward, a step closer to the injured animal when she heard Geralt yell, “No! Stay back!” The witcher was looking at his wife. “She may crush you.”

 

Indeed, Roach was still thrashing about on the ferry, her heavy weight rocking the craft every time she lost her balance and crashed back down to the deck. It was then that the witcher cast an Axii Sign at his horse. Immediately, the horse seemed to calm down a bit. As Evie looked on, she noticed that more time passed between each of the mare’s efforts to rise. Eventually, her attempts to stand ceased, and she lay mostly still on her side.  Evie looked at Geralt and then glanced around. Everyone else was also standing and looking at either the witcher or his mount.

 

            Evie watched her husband – his face now blank – walk up slowly and kneel down next to his mare’s head. Immediately, she knelt down on the other side of Roach, across from Geralt.  The horse’s breathing was shallow but very fast.  She watched the witcher gently stroke the mare’s neck as he inspected the wound, and then he turned to look down at the injured lower leg.

 

            “Damn it,” he said under his breath.

 

            “Geralt, what can I do to help?”

 

            He raised his head and looked into Evie’s eyes.  She noticed the small frown on his face, and then, he gave a slight shake of his head.

 

            “There’s only one thing to be done,” he answered gravely.

 

            As she watched the witcher pull the knife from his scabbard, a small cry of “No” escaped from her throat.  Geralt was rubbing his hand gently across Roach’s neck and whispering to her, trying to calm her. Thanks to the witcher’s Axii, the mare seemed to be at peace. Though she knew that she was probably imagining it, Evie could swear that there was even a look of acceptance in the horse’s eye as it looked up at its owner.

 

            “You were one of the best, girl. We went through hell together,” the witcher said softly. “I’ll miss you…friend.”. 

 

When Evie saw him raise his knife, she turned her ahead away.  A moment later, it was done, and Evie stood up and walked behind her kneeling husband.  As he was removing the bridle from Roach’s head, she bent down and hugged the witcher from behind, placing her arms around his neck and resting her cheek on top of his head.  Upon feeling his wife’s embrace, he stopped moving his hands and let go of the leather halter. He sighed deeply and then simply rested his hands on top of his thighs.

 

            “I’m sorry, Geralt.”

 

            “Yeah…me, too,” he replied as he reached up and gently squeezed her forearm.

 

After a moment, he went back to the business of removing his saddle and other gear from his horse. He knew that he didn’t have time in that moment to dwell on her death.  With the potential dangers ahead, there was too much to do. He had to keep moving.  

 

oOo

 

            Evie looked to her witcher for reassurance, for the ferry was moving past the rocky cliffs at a frightening speed as the current of the river – now moving from a higher to lower elevation - picked up its pace.  Luckily, there were no large rocks protruding upward from the river bottom so, as of yet, the large, wooden vessel had not impacted any dangerous obstacles.  However, every time it careened off either side of the hard escarpment, Evie winced.

 

            “Are the rapids going to get worse?” Geralt ask Vatslav, as the two men hung on tightly to the ferry’s railing.

 

            “Don’t know.  Haven’t come down this far in many a year. Did most of my fishing and hunting up river,” the old man answered with a yell to be heard over the river’s noise.

 

            The group had been floating south for at least a half an hour, with Geralt constantly surveying the cliffs, looking for the Redanians’ next ambush.

 

            Suddenly, the ferry crashed into a boulder that was just under the surface of the water.  With a loud bang, a vibration passed through the wood. The ferry lurched to a temporary stop, knocking Evie and Benny off their feet but, luckily, not into the river itself. Immediately, the current grabbed ahold of the ferry’s edge that was closest to the middle of the stream and spun it around. The side of the large craft slipped off the rock’s surface and continued its rudderless journey down river.

 

            “Everybody best sit down!” yelled Vatslav.  “The next crash could toss you in!”

 

            Evie, now sitting down and holding onto one of the spokes of a wagon wheel, saw Geralt immediately cast Axii Signs at the remaining horses.  It was better than nothing, but she didn’t think there was any way that his Signs were going to keep them calm if the rapids got worse.  The witcher was also moving from horse to horse tying their reins to the ferry’s railings so that, she assumed, there’d be less chance of them falling into the dangerous currents.

 

            “Hang on!” screamed Lydial suddenly.

 

            The ferry immediately dipped, its front edge plunging under the river’s surface. Cold, mountain water sprayed over the ferry and drenched everyone.  And, then, the ferry began charging down river at even a greater velocity than before. It ricocheted off of boulders along the river’s edges while Evie grasped the spokes in a death-grip. She wasn’t sure that she’d ever gone this fast before, even on the back of a galloping stallion.  She suddenly felt an arm wrap around her waist.  Geralt had slid up behind her, his legs on either side of her, with one arm holding onto his wife and the other firmly gripping the wagon wheel. 

 

            “What about the horses!?!” Evie asked loudly, as the equines whinnied in fear around them.

 

            “We can find other horses! I can’t find another you,” the witcher yelled back, as a wave of water crashed over the surface of the ferry once again.

 

            Evie, with the sound of the rapids roaring in her ears, looked under the wagon to see that everyone else was also sitting down and hanging onto either to some part of the wagon or the ferry railing with all their strength. She looked down river to see what was coming up next, and the ferry was rapidly approaching another boulder. Just before impact, she closed her eyes, hoping that this one wouldn’t be the one to crack the vessel apart.  She heard a heavy smack of wood impacting stone, and her body was jerked forward, but she felt Geralt holding her tightly.  Then, she opened her eyes to see that they were still careening towards the white rapids ahead. The ferry had not taken a direct hit, only impacting the boulder at an angle before glancing off and continuing its trip without any noticeable reduction in speed. While the cold water had soaked her clothes and hair to her body, the muscles in her arms, shoulders, and back were burning. She wasn’t sure how much longer she could hang on, for with each dip in the river or crash against the rocks, her body was jerked about. So much so, that she was having difficulty even focusing her eyes on what was ahead.

 

            Suddenly, Evie felt her body twist, the ferry turning broadside and slamming into the jagged edge of a boulder in the middle of the river. The decades-old ferry could no longer withstand the unrelenting pounding, and it shattered at several points. One of the ferry’s railings snapped in two, which meant that the ropes holding the wagon in place were no longer secure.  This caused the wagon – along with everyone using it for support – to be thrown forward towards the boulder. Evie cried out as her grip was torn loose from the wagon wheel.  Her mind – in a fraction of a second - expected her body to immediately either plunge into the unrelenting rapids or slam against the rock, but neither happened.  Instead, she sensed an incredibly painful squeezing sensation around her abdomen – so hard that it felt her ribs were about to crack - as her witcher held her closely to him. Their bodies suddenly jerked to a stop as the wagon crashed into the other railing. The broken ferry was no longer moving down river as it was hung up on the boulder. It had almost shattered into two pieces, but a few sturdy planks were still hanging on, keeping the two sections of the vessel connected.  Then, even those planks snapped, giving way under the river’s unyielding pressure.  One-third of the vessel basically disintegrated into nothing but random boards and logs.  The two horses that had been tied to the railings on that front portion of the ferry fell into the churning water, and Evie quickly lost sight of them.  The larger part of the ferry - the mostly undamaged section with the wagon - was pushed back into the middle of the rapids and began floating down river again.

 

            Evie was on her back underneath the wagon, holding on to nothing. She was lying on top of her husband, and she felt like she could barely breathe.

 

            “Geralt…can you ease up a bit?” she gasped out.

 

            “Sorry,” he replied, and instantly she felt him loosen his hold around her waist. She immediately inhaled deeply and felt pain all along her ribcage. She knew that she was going to be sore for a while.

 

She carefully slid off of Geralt, pushed her wet hair back from her eyes, and looked around as the ferry floated slowly along.   She let out a sigh of relief as she peered down river to see that, presumably, they had made it through the worst.  It looked like calm waters ahead. It was then that she heard some moaning coming from nearby so she and Geralt crawled out from beneath the wagon. What she saw made her gasp.  Vatslav’s body was pinned between the ferry’s railing and one of the wagon’s wheels.  It surprised her to notice that he didn’t even have the slightest of grimaces on his face.

 

“Hang on, Vatslav. We’ll get you out of there,” stated the witcher calmly.

 

“I’ll grab his head,” said Evie as she moved next to them.

 

“Let’s try to stabilize his body, too,” remarked Benny from behind.

 

Quickly, everyone crowded around the old man and began discussing what needed to be done.  They soon had a plan and moved with haste into position.

 

“One, two, three!” yelled Geralt, as he and Barcain, with a mighty jerk, pulled the wagon away from the railing. 

 

Evie, Benny, and Lydial did their best to support his body and then lay him down gently on the deck of the ferry, with Evie trying her hardest to keep his head stationary.

 

            Benny looked down into Vatslav’s open eyes.  The mage could see that he was both alive and conscious.

 

            “Where do you hurt?” the healer-sorcerer asked.

 

            The old man exhaled, a little spittle coming from his mouth.

 

            “Nowhere. I don’t feel nothing,” he answered with a frown.

 

            Benny looked up at Geralt, but neither said a word.

 

            Benny turned back to Vatslav. “Can you move your fingers for me?”

 

            Everyone’s eyes immediately went to the old man’s hands, which remained completely still.

 

            “I’m buggered, ain’t I?” Vatslav asked.

 

            No one answered, but when he peered at the witcher, Geralt looked him in the eye and nodded slowly.

 

oOo

 

            After Geralt had cut the rope on the ferry, the remaining Redanians on the east bank – the Kaedweni side of the river - had run back to their horses. The Redanian officer – the now-dead one with a Temerian crossbow bolt through his chest - had come up with a contingency plan before the encounter. He had instructed his men that if the witcher refused to hand over the historian and cut the ferry’s rope, then they’d simply ride south, no matter how long it took, until they found a shallow area where they could block the ferry’s passage.

 

Ten miles downriver, just past a sharp bend, the river canyon opened up.  This allowed the river to widen significantly and, consequently, become much shallower. Just as importantly, the rapids dramatically decreased in speed so that the river’s current slowed to just a gentle flow as it continued on its eventual destination towards the valley to the west.  It was also at this spot that the eastern cliff became much less steep so it was there that the group of Redanian soldiers, based on their officer’s previous orders, had maneuvered their horses down a mountain trail towards the river’s east bank.  One low-ranking soldier had been “voluntold” to ride his horse across the five-foot deep river to the west bank carrying a thick rope. On the far side, he found a small boulder that was imbedded deeply into the ground, wrapped the rope around it several times, and then securely tied off the end. Once done, the men on the east bank found an equally secure tree to which to tie the other end of the rope.  The rope was now stretched tightly across the river about a foot above the water’s surface.  At that point, all that the Redanian soldiers had to do was wait - for their comrades – the ones that, unbeknownst to them, were dead – and for the slow-moving ferry to arrive.

 

oOo

 

            The witcher looked up to see the sun high overhead. The river’s current was steady, slow moving, and still traveling southward through the mountain canyon.  To the witcher’s surprise, the smaller craft was still in one piece and floating behind the damaged ferry.

 

Geralt knew that at some point the Nimnar River would turn westward and head down out of the mountains and through the town of Gelibol in the Nimnar Valley before eventually pouring into the Buina River. While he was familiar with the river and its surrounding terrain down in the valley, he didn’t know any details of what still lay ahead of them on the river there in the mountains, but he was very sure that their broken-up ferry couldn’t withstand any more rapids.  Just one more hard collision would probably shatter it into pieces. 

 

Suddenly, he was interrupted from his thoughts by a shout from high above.

 

“Hello, down below!” A voice called from the top of the cliffs on the western side – the Redanian side – of the river.

 

            The witcher, along with everyone else on the craft, looked up. Looking down upon them was Vernon Roche, walking his horse beside him. Evie heard Geralt mumble, “Swell,” under his breath.

 

            It wasn’t that Geralt actively disliked the former commander of the Temerian Blue Stripes. In fact, the two men had battled side-by-side in the last couple of years on several separate occasions.  That said, the witcher was very wary of him, for he knew that, ultimately, Vernon Roche’s values and loyalties were quite different than his own. In Geralt’s eyes, the man was blindly and somewhat fanatically dedicated to obtaining Temeria’s independence. That, in and of itself, wasn’t necessarily a bad thing. However, the witcher knew that Roche was willing to do just about anything – allowing atrocities to be committed or even perpetrating them himself - on behalf of his idealistic, greater good.  

 

Just last year, Geralt had seen it himself firsthand. Roche had happily used a few citizens of a small Temerian village as intelligence assets to assist in his guerilla warfare against the invading Nilfgaardians.  However, when he discovered that the Black Ones had found out about his informers and were going to kill everyone in the village in retaliation, Roche simply wrote them off as casualties of war, as the cost for Temeria’s liberty. The witcher had known, even prior to that event, just how deep Roche’s patriotism ran, but it was then that he’d decided that he would never truly be able to trust the Temerian. For if the commando viewed even his own countrymen’s lives as expendable on behalf of his theoretical, noble cause, then clearly there wasn’t anyone that he wouldn’t be willing to sacrifice.

 

But the witcher had just never been a big-picture kind of guy. It was why he loathed royal courts and the politics found within and it was why he knew that he’d never make a good military commander.  He’d just never be able to treat living souls like pawns in a game, and, therefore, he hadn’t understood Roche’s stance on being willing to sacrifice those townsfolk. For what was the point of a free Temeria if all the Temerians were dead?  It had been only Ves’ insistence – and her disobeying of her commander’s orders for non-interference – that had forced Roche’s hand to come to the villagers’ aid. 

 

Geralt knew that he and Roche could have a working relationship for only as long as Roche believed that the witcher was somehow useful for achieving his overall goals. But if the Temerian ever thought that the witcher’s death would somehow help his country regain its independence, Geralt had no doubt that Roche wouldn’t hesitate a bit to bury a dagger in his back – and then, not lose one wink of sleep over it.   

 

Of course, that made Vernon Roche, in the witcher’s mind, ultimately no different than almost everyone else he’d ever met. He knew that he could probably count on one hand the number of people in the world who didn’t think that the ends justified the means. Therefore, he wasn’t really surprised by the Temerian’s actions - for, in Geralt’s opinion, rationalization was without a doubt every man’s greatest skill. And it was a skill that didn’t even have to be learned and developed. All sapient creatures were simply born with it, just like their ability to lie, which was essentially what rationalization was.  It was just _self_ -deception.  Lying to your conscience whenever you felt guilty for something you had done or were about to do.  Knowing you were committing an act that skirted - if not outright crossed - the bounds of morality and ethics, but telling yourself, “There’s no other choice,” or, “She made me do it,” or, “It’ll be just this once, and, hey, everybody else does even worse…so what’s the big deal?” But regardless of the rationalization, they all served one purpose. To deflect blame and assuage guilt. It’s why animals and beasts never rationalized.  They didn’t need to. They didn’t have a conscience so they simply never felt guilty.  They just did what was in their nature. But, then again, so do we all, thought the witcher.

 

            “Guessing you didn’t just happen to be in the neighborhood!” The witcher’s voice echoed upward off the sides of the rocky cliffs.

 

            “You’d guess right! We were tracking a platoon of Redanians out of Tretogor!  Took care of the ones on this side of the river. Seems you’ve caught Radovid’s attention…what have you done this time?”

 

            “No idea…but we could use some help!  I think that we’d all like to get off this ferry and onto hard ground as soon as possible!  What do things look like up ahead?”

 

            “I’ve already sent some scouts forward! They should be back shortly!”

 

            “Who is that?” asked Evie softly.

 

            “Vernon Roche.”

 

Geralt then went on to explain his and Roche’s history. He told her that they’d done each other a few favors in the last two years, including when Roche came to Kaer Morhen last summer to help battle the Wild Hunt.

 

            “Then, I don’t understand. I’d think you’d be happy to see him, but you’re clearly not.”

 

            “Just…be careful what you say around him. And don’t mention the Sword, okay?”

 

            “Okay, Geralt.”

 

            It was over an hour later before Roche finally appeared atop the cliff’s edge again and called back down to them.

 

            “Looks like you got trouble ahead! There’s a low spot in the river a mile or so up, and a dozen or so Redanians have cordoned it off!  We’d help you if we could, but there’s no way for us to get down to the river on this side!  We could shoot some bolts at them from up here, but not much else!”

 

            “Swell,” Geralt grumbled.  “Thanks! We’ll figure something out!”

 

            Then, he turned to look at those around him.

 

            “Any ideas?” asked Evie.

 

            “What are our resources?” Barcain asked.

 

            The witcher looked around him. “A wagon, two live horses, which are probably useless to us right now, the flat-bottomed boat -”

 

            “I can’t believe it survived the rapids,” interrupted Lydial.

 

            The witcher nodded his head. “We’ve got a lot of bombs. I made two case-loads at Kaer Morhen, but by the time we get close enough to throw them…I’m afraid the Redanians will have riddled the entire ferry with bolts and arrows.”

 

            “They didn’t fire at us before when they were far away…there at the river crossing. Maybe they won’t this time either,” posited Lydial.

 

            “I’m not willing to take that chance,” said Geralt, his eyes shifting to his wife. “And they may not be far away this time.”

 

 “Exactly,” offered Barcain. “They didn’t hesitate to attack us once they got close to us with the boat.”

 

            “Well, we’d better think of something quick because we can’t stop this ferry,” said Benny.

 

            The witcher immediately looked at the mage and nodded. “That’s exactly what we need to do.”

 

            Geralt found the anchor and tossed it over the side, but the ferry didn’t even noticeably slow down, much less stop.  He looked to the south and saw a sharp bend down river.  He also noticed that the cliff’s face on the east side of the river was no longer sheer.  It was still too steep for a typical human to climb, but there were some trees and rock outcropping scattered along the side, including down towards the river’s edge.  He hurried over to the rope that had been tied to the ferry’s now broken railing – the other end still tied to the wagon.  He discarded the swords and crossbow from his back, and then he scooped up the loose end of the rope and dove into the river, swimming with all of his might against the current and towards the narrow east bank.  

 

Though, calling it a bank wasn’t truly accurate.  There wasn’t a flat place for a person to stand, but there were some large rocks jutting up along the edge.  Evie saw the witcher’s head break the surface of the water near the rocks. He climbed upward and drug the thick rope to the other side of a boulder. However, he didn’t even have time to completely circle the rope around the large rock before it immediately went taught. The force of the ferry being pushed down river almost pulled the witcher from his feet, but he wrapped the rope around his arms and pulled it tight against the rock face, trying to use as much friction as possible to slow the ferry’s momentum.  He wedged his body into a tight space between two boulders, and pain shot through his shoulders as it felt like his arms were being pulled from their sockets. The witcher gritted his teeth, the veins popping from his neck as he tightened every muscle in his body, but, eventually, slowly, the pain eased as the ferry’s momentum down river came to an end. He exhaled deeply before, inch-by-inch, pulling the ferry up-river into his direction. Evie and the rest on the ferry also began pulling on their end of the rope as well, and within a couple of minutes the vessel was snuggled up to one of the boulders.

 

            Evie looked at her husband and felt pride swelling within her at what he’d just done. 

 

            “Okay.  You’ve stopped us. Now what?” she asked.

 

            The witcher’s eyes shifted to the smaller, flat-bottomed boat and then back to Evie again.

 

“I may have an idea.”

 

            After hearing it, Barcain stated, “It’s not bad, but how are you going to know when to shoot? Too soon and you may not kill them…too late and you’re fish food. ”

 

            Geralt rubbed his cheeks with his hand and nodded his head.

 

            Benny piped up. “Easy.  I can conceal myself. So, I’ll ride next to Geralt and let him know when to shoot.”

 

            The witcher shook his head. “I don’t like it, Benny.”

 

            “Why’s that?”

 

            “Because you could die. That’s why.”

 

            “The same could be said for you.”

 

            “Yeah, well, I’m wearing armor, _and_ I’m going to already have a Quen shield around me.  I won’t have time to cast a Quen dome to protect you.”

 

            Nobody said anything for a bit. Finally, the silence was broken.

 

            “I’ll do it,” came a weak and raspy voice.

 

            Everyone’s head turned towards Vatslav lying near them, flat on his back on the ferry’s deck.

 

            “What the hell are you talking about?” asked Geralt.

 

            “I’ll do it,” the old man said again.

 

            “And just how do you propose to do that?” asked Lydial.

 

            “Not too complicated. Set me up-right on the ferry so that I can see.  When the time’s right, I yell out. Problem solved.”

 

            “Absolutely not!” yelled Evie, followed by similar protestations from Lydial and Benny.

 

            “Vatslav, that’s suicide,” said Lydial.

 

            “The hell you say. It’s mercy,” he replied with steel in his voice. “Didn’t hear any of you complaining when Geralt put his horse down. What? I don’t deserve the same respect as an animal?” The old man was now wheezing from the exertion.

 

            “It’s totally different,” replied Benny. “Your injury may not be fatal…or permanent. I’ve heard of situations where paralysis was only temporary. Within a week or two, your sensations and movement could come back.”

 

            “That so? I’ve heard a lot of fairy tales in my day, too. Don’t mean I believe ‘em. And when I _don’t_ have a miraculous healing…then which one of you is gonna feed me and wipe my ass for the rest of my life?” 

 

When no one said anything to that, Vatslav’s eyes moved to Geralt’s.

 

“Witcher, talk some sense into ‘em. You know I’m right. No one ever comes back from this.  Let me die my way… with some kind of purpose…and dignity. Not in some bed, layin’ in my own shit all day.”

 

The White Wolf’s eyes bore into Vatslav’s for several long moments, and then he met the determined gaze of both his wife and Lydial before lowering his head in contemplation. As he took a deep breath and exhaled slowly, he thought, _“Swell.”_

 


	11. Chapter 11

Ves was lying on her belly near the cliff’s edge.  Using some scrub-brush and rocks as cover, she peeked over the edge and down towards the river.  Across from her she noticed that the cliffs on the opposite side of the Nimnar were much less steep. If she had been on that side of the river, then she could have easily descended to the water’s edge. But on her side, it would be impossible to make it down safely without a long rope with which to repel. A rope she didn’t have. She inched her body forward just another hair and then looked below about a hundred feet and saw at least ten Redanian soldiers on their horses in the middle of the river. The river was obviously much shallower in this area for she could see that the water’s surface stopped just above the riders’ knees. Roughly ten feet in front of the line of mounted soldiers was a rope stretched tight across the river’s surface. It was simple to see what their plan was.  The rope would stop the ferry in the middle of the river, and from ten feet away, Geralt and his friends would be easy targets for the Redanians’ crossbows. And if the witcher jumped from the ferry in order to fight up close with his sword, then he would be hard-pressed to effectively attack in water that came up to his chest.  The Redanians’ plan may have been simple, but she admired it for its ingenuity.

 

            The blonde-haired Temerian was currently alone on top of the escarpment.  She’d sent the other two scouts back to tell Roche what was ahead, but neither her commander nor the rest had yet arrived.  Though she wasn’t that surprised. The terrain in the mountains on that side of the river was undulating and precarious – marked by high peaks and steep, deep ravines.  She figured that whatever was going to happen down below would be over long before any of her compatriots arrived.  As she looked at the scene below her, she thought about firing down on the Redanians.  From that distance and elevation, she doubted if she’d hit what she was specifically aiming at, but surely a few crossbow bolts raining down from above would at least disrupt the Redanians’ plans. It was then that she saw the partially destroyed ferry with the wagon appear. It was coming slowly around the bend of the river off towards her left. From her vantage point, she could only see one person on the ferry. It appeared to be man, and he seemed to be injured because he wasn’t moving. He was simply seated, his back up-right against one of the front wheels of the wagon.

 

oOo

 

            Geralt had his eyes closed since there was nothing to see.  He’d also learned that his hearing improved slightly when he closed his eyes, and at that moment, he was waiting for Vatslav’s signal. He was deliberately slowing down his breathing and heartrate.  While adrenaline was very useful in the middle of most battles, he knew that he needed to be as calm as possible for what lay ahead.  He realized that he probably only had one shot at success.  He took his left hand off of the crossbow that he held across his chest and lightly touched the bolt to verify that it was still secure in the groove. His fingers came to the end of the bolt and felt the explosive tip.  That gave the monster-slayer just a little more confidence that one shot would be all that he’d need.

 

oOo

 

As Ves watched the ferry continue down river, she picked up movement in her peripheral vision. She shifted her eyes and saw a smaller vessel coming around the river’s bend.  The wooden craft looked to be empty except for what appeared to be a brown tarp spread out across its middle, one edge of the material hanging down into the water.  Not seeing anyone on the flat-bottomed boat, her eyes jumped back to the ferry and watched in anticipation as its front edge finally caught on the rope that spanned the river.  The rope gave just a little, but it held tight and stopped the slow-moving ferry’s progress.  At that point, she could hear the lone man on the ferry talking with the Redanian soldiers, but she couldn’t make out the words.

 

            The Redanians – with crossbows still pointed at the ferry – cautiously walked their horses forward.  After stopping on the other side of the rope, one soldier dismounted his horse and climbed aboard the broken vessel. Suddenly, Ves heard a shout from below, “Now!”

 

            She picked up movement to her left – the brown tarp being tossed into the river - and when she focused her eyes on the smaller craft, she saw the White Wolf in the kneeling position – a Quen shield shimmering orange around him.  She heard yelling from the Redanians as many of them fired their crossbows at the monster-slayer.  His shield popped several times as the bolts ricocheted off, and it was only then that she noticed the witcher, too, had a crossbow in his hand.  The small craft was less than fifteen feet from the back of the ferry when she saw the witcher shoot his weapon and then dive towards the water’s surface.  Suddenly, the wagon and ferry exploded in a fiery ball of smoke and flames, with multiple detonations going off within the span of a second. The blast and the noise from the explosion was so unexpected that Ves involuntarily lurched back from the edge of the cliff. She took a deep breath and then quickly moved back to the edge so that she could see down below, but for almost a minute the river was obscured by gray smoke. Eventually, as the smoke drifted away, the scene came into view.  Her eyes picked up the bodies of dead horses floating down stream, but the ferry and wagon were virtually nowhere to be seen.  She could make out only a few shards of wood – and possibly a small section of white tarp from the wagon – bobbing along the water’s surface.  She couldn’t see a single living soldier. Whatever was left of them, Ves figured, was lying at the bottom of the river, weighed down by their metal armor. Finally, she saw the witcher, water up to his chest. He was slowly walking up stream, with a rope over his shoulder, pulling the smaller craft behind him. A small smile came to the Temerian’s face, and she shook her head.

 

            “He is such a badass,” she whispered to herself.

 

oOo

 

            It had been over two hours since Geralt, Evie and the rest had drug their soaked and exhausted bodies from the water. Two horses had survived the adventure down the river, and now Evie and Lydial rode those while the three men walked along beside them.  Though the small, wooden flat-bottom boat was still functional, they had decided to abandon it.  For one, it wasn’t big enough to carry them and the horses, and, secondly, no one wanted to risk facing anymore potential rapids.  They’d had their fill of those. The river had finally turned west, and the group was now walking in the wooded mountains on the south side of the river down towards the Nimnar Valley.  Geralt and Evie trailed a little behind the others, for Evie wanted some privacy so that she could speak with her husband.  He wasn’t acting like himself.

 

Earlier, back on the river, both Evie and Lydial had tried to talk the witcher out of his decision to place Vatslav on the ferry. All the while, the old man had been arguing back just as vociferously. Barcain and Benny had even added their opinions. Geralt had stood there quietly for several long moments simply listening to everyone argue back and forth. No one, in truth, was listening to the other side’s opinion.

 

Finally, the monster-slayer had had all he could stand and yelled, “Enough!”

 

Instantly, everyone went silent and looked at him wide-eyed.

 

“It’s _his_ life. It’s _his_ decision…and this is what he wants. Unless anyone else here has a better idea on how to kill all those sons-of-bitches waiting for us round the bend.”

 

No one said anything. 

 

“No?” he asked, looking everyone in the face.  “Didn’t think so.” After that, they’d let him be.  

 

During the first hour or so after leaving the river, Geralt and Evie had walked side-by-side, mostly in silence. She had still been angry with him, with both his decision regarding Vatslav and also the way he had yelled at them.  She’d been fine letting him wallow in his sullen mood. But as the first hour turned into two and the silence between them deepened, she started becoming concerned.  And then, she remembered Roach. She’d been so focused on their argument over Vatslav that she hadn’t even considered how he still might be feeling about the death of his horse. And, now, she was feeling a bit guilty.

 

“Geralt, are you okay?”

 

            “Yeah, I guess…Are you still upset with me?”

 

            Evie looked down at her husband. “A little bit.  I understand why you think you did the right thing.  I just didn’t…and don’t agree with it.”

 

            “Evie, I know how much you value life, but what were the other options? And that’s not a rhetorical question. Please, tell me, what would you have done?”

 

            “I wouldn’t have put him on that ferry.”

 

            “Okay. Fair enough. Then, how would you have saved us all from the Redanians?”

 

            She didn’t say anything for several seconds. “I don’t know.”

 

            The witcher nodded. “Exactly. And even if we could have somehow escaped from the Redanians by some other means, do you honestly believe that we could haul a paralyzed man around the countryside until we finally found someone who’d take him in? Especially now, with apparently half the continent now looking for us?”

 

            “You’re right. It would have been difficult, but I don’t believe ‘expediency’ or ‘convenience’ is a very good reason for making a decision when someone’s life is at stake.”

 

            “Damn it, Evie. You act like you think I’m happy about what I did.”

 

            “I know that you’re not. But, I just don’t believe that there’s ever a right way to do a wrong thing. And I think killing him was wrong.”

 

            “Really? So, you get to decide when killing is right or wrong? Cause, if I remember correctly, you didn’t seem to have much issue with me killing Alderman Thacker back in Ban Ard.  What’s the difference?”

 

            “Geralt, if you want to know the truth, I really didn’t want you to kill Thacker either.”

 

            “Are you serious?”

 

            “Yes.”

 

            “Then, why did you seem so okay with it?”

 

            “Because of the circumstances.  If there had actually been any kind of law and order in that town…someone who would have held him accountable for his actions, then I would have told you to hand Thacker over to them.  But there wasn’t, and I didn’t want him free to continue to hurt others.  Because he no doubt would have.”

 

            The witcher didn’t say anything for a moment. “So, ultimately, you were okay with me killing Thacker in order to save others from future pain?”

 

            “Yes.”

 

            He nodded his head. “Well, that was my exact motivation for letting Vatslav go out the way that he did.  As he said – it was more merciful than trying to keep him alive in his condition.”

 

            Evie didn’t respond to that at first. Finally, she stated, “Okay, Geralt. If you say that was your motivation, then…okay.”

 

            Geralt could hear the doubt in her voice, and it pierced his heart. He grabbed the reins and stopped her horse from moving forward. He looked up into his wife’s eyes.

 

“Evie…I need to know you’re still with me.  You may not realize it, but you have _all_ been looking to me to take care of whatever problems come our way. And, it hasn’t stopped with just that. It seems that you all expect me to make all the tough decisions for the group, too. And I never asked for that, and frankly…I’m willing to do it, but I don’t like it. Before, all I’ve ever been responsible for in my life was me, but now…I’ve got you, which is great…but apparently, I’m responsible for everyone else, too? I’m somehow the de facto leader of this entire mission? I feel like I’ve got the weight of the world on my shoulders…so I need you to tell me that you understand.  That you understand I was in a shit situation, with every decision being a bad one.  Baby, I can’t do this without you. I need you on my side.”  

 

            Evie looked down and saw the pleading in her husband’s eyes.  She quickly got down from the horse and pulled Geralt into a hug.

 

            “I _am_ on your side, Geralt.  And I always will be. You’re my husband.” She then stepped back to look into his face.  “And, I’m sorry…I didn’t even realize it, but you’re right. I…we…have been looking to you to solve all our problems. It didn’t even occur to me how much pressure you must be feeling.  I’ll try and be more supportive, okay?”

 

            “Okay.”

 

            “I think…part of the reason I didn’t want you to put Vatslav on the ferry is because…I’m just scared for you.”

 

            “What do you mean?”

 

            “You’ve made it clear about the darkness – the evil – inside of you. So I know how easy it is for you to kill, and I don’t want you to…to ‘feed’ that evil. I want to help you from going down that path if…when you can avoid it.”

 

            Geralt nodded, but before he could say anything else, he was distracted from noises coming towards them.  He grabbed Evie by the hand, and they walked up to where the other three in their party had stopped. Moments later, Vernon Roche and his men rode up on horseback. 

 

            “We finally found a place where we could cross to this side,” said the commando.

 

            “We owe you one, Roche.”

 

            The Temerian smiled. 

 

“Damn right, you do.  And I do love having a witcher in my debt. You’ve been quite useful in the past,” he said before throwing the reins of the horse next to him in Geralt’s direction.

 

oOo

 

_Redania_

 

            “What do you think of their story?” asked Ves in a whisper.

 

            Roche had sent the rest of his men back to Tretogor to continue their reconnaissance of the royal grounds, but he and Ves had remained with Geralt and the others.   They had all stopped for the evening in a wooded area in the southern part of the Nimnar Valley to catch a few hours of sleep before continuing west.  The two Temerians were lying next to one another a short distance from the others.

 

            “They’re not telling us the full truth.” Roche could just make out Ves nodding her head in the dark.  “I have no doubt that Emhyr and now Radovid are after the historian…but, it’s _not_ simply because of a book.  I don’t believe for a second that she stole it because of its ‘historical significance’ or whatever tripe she mentioned.  Neither Emhyr nor Radovid give a ploughing hell about history.  They’re after her because of something she knows…that, or the book leads to something else.”

 

            “So, what do you want to do?”

 

            “Simple. We’re gonna join ‘em and find out the truth.  Whatever it is they’re after…it could be very useful for us.”

 

oOo

 

_The seven year old boy huddled in the darkened closet with Letty. He and his twelve-year old sister were both on the floor, him hugging his knees while she had her arms wrapped around him. They had been ordered into the closet by their panic-stricken father just moments before the front door of the family’s hut had been kicked open, and now, tears streamed down their faces as they listened to the sounds coming from the other side of the closet door. The high-pitched screams of their mother, the pleading and yells from their father…and laughter.  The boy would never forget the cruel laughter. He and his sister trembled with fear, and they held on to one another tightly for any kind of comfort, but they knew better than to cry. Knew better than to make any kind of noise._

_The house had been constructed in a typical fashion for their run-down town, which meant that the boards in both the floors and walls weren’t entirely flush with one another.  This allowed a small amount of light to enter the closet. Just enough for the boy to look up and see that Letty had her eyes closed as she rocked back and forth. He peered through the cracks between the boards, trying to get a glimpse of his parents and their tormentors._

_“Keep your eyes open and look!” The boy heard the command coming from the other side of the wall. “Or, I’ll cut your ploughing eye-lids off.” That was followed by more laughter._

_The boy didn’t know how long had passed until he finally heard his mother’s fearful cries and his father’s pleas eventually fade into nothing but feeble moans, interrupted by the occasional sob of grief.  But the laughter and the intensity of whatever the men were doing to them hadn’t diminished – only his parents’ protestations._

_While tears ran down the boy’s cheeks, he wasn’t sure if they were tears of fear or anger. He was consumed with fear, but rage, too, boiled within. But he wasn’t just angry with the men outside.  He was angry with himself. Angry with his own paralyzing fear. Angry with the helplessness he felt. He wanted to kick open the closet door and kill everyone who was hurting his parents, but he was too afraid of what would happen if he revealed himself.  So overcome with emotions, the boy began to cry again, and a sob escaped from his throat._

_Letty held him tighter and rocked him faster.  He heard her whisper faintly, “Malek, please…you gotta stay quiet.”_

_The boy then heard footsteps approaching the door, and both he and Letty held their breath._

_Suddenly, the door was thrown open. The sunlight rushed into the darkened closet, and Malek shut his eyes from the pain._

_“Well, well…lookey what we got here.”_

_He opened his eyes to see a large silhouette reaching down for him and his now-screaming sister. As he felt the man’s hands grasp his shirt, he let out a yell._

And then he woke.

 

            Fringilla heard Malek exhale sharply and then felt him rise quickly from the bed, the sheet falling from his torso.  She had actually been awake for a few moments, Malek’s moans and mumbling disrupting her sleep. But these middle-of-the-night disturbances weren’t anything new.  They had happened every night that she had shared a bed with the man.  She reached out and put a hand on his thigh and then waited. Seconds later, she felt his sweaty hand grasp hers.

           

            He sighed. “Sorry.”

 

            “It’s okay. You want to talk about it?”

 

            He shook his head and sighed again. “No. I’m fine.” It was the same answer he’d given her every time.

 

            Fringilla, once again, felt annoyed. Not that he had woken her up. But, rather, because he had yet to ever disclose to her the contents of these recurring nightmares. This man that she had been sharing her bed and body with for the last several weeks was a bit of a mystery to her, and that concerned her because a mystery meant unpredictability.  And given the dangerous tightrope that she was walking – a tightrope of either treason or revolution, depending upon one’s perspective - she preferred to be able to predict all of Malek’s moves and motivations. But, she was honestly having trouble doing so. One moment, she saw Malek knock out one of his own men with a single punch for frightening a boy in Tarsus. In another instance, he threatened to kill the teenage girl in Kaer Morhen. Just what kind of man was he? And despite all of her charms and skills, she still couldn’t ascertain just where Malek stood with regards to Emhyr.  Could she ever convince him that it was time for a different direction for the Empire?  That it was time for a change in leadership? She was going to try everything in her power to do so.

 

            The Nilfgaardian sorceress rubbed her hand gently and slowly along Malek’s thigh. 

 

            “Here, let me help you go back to sleep.”

 

oOo

 

_Montecalvo_

 

            Philippa Eilhart slammed the book of Essea closed – the one translated into Common - and tossed it onto her desk. She then stood and began pacing around the library.

 

            Oran knew better than to even make a comment.  Even on her best days, his sister’s acid tongue was laced with sarcasm and ridicule, and it was clearly not a good day.  He had been listening to Philippa sigh repeatedly for the last few hours as she finished reading the tome that they’d stolen at Kaer Morhen.  A book she’d had her nose buried in for several days now.

 

She finally broke the silence herself. 

 

“If there is some clue in that damn book as to this powerful sword’s location, then I can’t find it.  There’s nothing in there but the tedious history of the Aen Seidhe elves. That, and a bunch of nonsensical, religious poetry.”

 

Oran still remained silent.  Since she hadn’t asked him a question, then he didn’t feel compelled to respond.  Even though he could admit that he was still in love with Philippa, that didn’t mean that he enjoyed her condescension.  And he’d learned quickly the best way to avoid it was to say as little as possible.  It stung his pride a bit that he, the Ghost, a major player in the Hengfors crime world, would act a bit spineless towards a woman, but Philippa was no ordinary woman.  Plus, he just loved her. He couldn’t help himself.  It wasn’t his fault that the woman that his heart decided to cherish happened to be his own sister.  So, even though it grated a bit, he was willing to play the subservient role if that meant keeping the peace with his sibling, for when she was happy, she was much kinder to him. She’d even let him into her bed.  He’d always thought that pride was one of the most powerful of human emotions, but apparently, love was even stronger.

 

“Do you have nothing to say?” she asked testily.

 

Oran thought for a moment, picking his words carefully.

                       

            “That is a shame. Perhaps, I can help?” he finally answered his sister with a straight face.

 

            “Speak.”

 

            “I know a professor of history. His reputation is… a bit tarnished now, but he was once highly respected. Taught for years at the Oxenfurt Academy. Perhaps, he could assist us.”

 

             “Just how do _you_ know a highly-respected professor?”

 

            “Sister, you’d be surprised at just who has called upon my services. There’s not a corner of this world where someone doesn’t want someone else dead.  And that includes the hallowed halls of academia. They are quite cutthroat there.”

 

            Philippa nodded. “Very well. Let’s go see this professor of yours.”

 

oOo

 

_The Great Sea_

 

            Emperor Emhyr stood, facing the east, his hands gripping the railing of one of his frigates. The ship was one of three that were floating more or less at rest several miles west of Novigrad. He stared off into the direction of the free city and enjoyed the ocean breeze on his face.  He was reviewing his military operation in his mind one last time. Though, in reality, now that he had already sent the rest of his armada northward, it was too late to abort the plan even if he wanted.

 

            He glanced at the two adjacent ships to either side of his, his eyes resting on the large, wooden boxes that were on each ships’ top decks. Reflexively, his hands went down to his pockets to touch the metal discs. He remembered Philippa Eilhart’s instructions when she’d given him the magical objects.

 

            _“I cannot foresee the circumstances in which I will not be present to activate your ‘army’ myself. However, if the need should arise, you can do so with these discs.  Simply press the two sides together until you hear the snap…and then, they are ready to receive your orders, Your Majesty.”_

_Emhyr looked at the two discs in his hands._

_“How long will their magical cores last once they are activated?”_

_“That’s indeterminate.  There are simply too many factors to consider. But…I estimate a full three days at a minimum.”_

_“And if I need to deactivate them beforehand, I simply separate the discs?”_

_“In theory.”_

_Emhyr gave the sorceress a look._

_“That’s the best answer that I can give.  These discs are revolutionary. Putting the power of this much magic into the hands of a non-magic user has never been done before.  And, to complicate matters, my creations are such that this world has never seen.  The amount of magic being harnessed by these creatures is beyond anything ever imagined…so I truly have no idea how it will all work out.” She then smiled widely. “But I do so look forward to seeing them in action.”_

            The emperor nodded to himself as he continued to look eastward towards Redania.

 

            “As do I,” he said to himself.

 

 


	12. Chapter 12

_Redania_

 

            “Geralt, are you sure it’s safe going through the sewers?” asked Evie.

 

            “I’m positive it’s not.  But, it’s safer than trying to enter through the gates.”

 

            The early morning mist was hovering over the canals that surrounded the free city of Novigrad.  Through that fog, the witcher slowly and quietly rowed a small dinghy that he had acquired earlier.  As remuneration, he had left a handful of crowns on the dilapidated dock where the small boat had been moored. He hoped that the owner – and not some random bloke – would find the payment, but, truthfully, he had more important things to concern himself with at the moment.

 

            Several hours earlier, the group of seven – to Geralt, it seemed as if they picked up a new member every week – had approached the outskirts of Novigrad just past midnight.  While Evie and Lydial stayed hidden in the darkness, Geralt and the rest had done some reconnaissance and discovered that every main thoroughfare leading into the city was highly guarded by witch hunters, guards of the temple of the Eternal Fire, and Redanian soldiers.  Getting into the city would be even more precarious and difficult than the last time he’d been there the previous summer. Outside the gates, lining the walls and the bridges, were corpses of various nonhuman species. Some were charred. Some impaled. Others hanged.  High above, along the tops of the city’s walls, there were dozens and dozens of heads mounted on spikes, their black, swollen tongues protruding from their mouths. Blowflies buzzed all about, and the smell of decay filled the air. Clearly, the violence towards nonhumans had intensified in the last twelve months. The witcher wondered if his various nonhuman friends – Zoltan, Dudu, Eibhear, and Vimme - had made it out of the city alive, but wonder is all that he figured he could do. He doubted that he’d actually get a chance to check on his friends’ whereabouts.

 

            Given that the city more than likely had threats on literally every street corner, then clearly stealth was of paramount importance. Thus, it was decided that the smaller the incursion group the better. Of the seven, none knew the layout of Novigrad better than the witcher, but even if that hadn’t been the case, there wasn’t a chance in hell that he was going to let Evie enter that den of villainy without him by her side. Therefore, it was finally determined that just the two of them would attempt to infiltrate the city’s fortified perimeter. Geralt hoped that he and Evie could sneak in, get the information that they needed, and then sneak back out all within a couple of hours, but he knew that was very wishful thinking. In his experience, virtually all of his plans hit a snag somewhere along the line.

 

            The witcher stopped rowing and put the oars inside the dinghy as the boat approached a small ledge that jutted out from the sheer face of the city wall.  Evie immediately knew that they were near the sewers as the smell hit her like a punch to the nose.  She did her best not to gag.  She looked up and – even though it was too dark to actually see it - she could tell that they were directly below St. Gregory’s Bridge, which connected the northern and southern parts of the city.  Stars were visible in the sky on either side of it, but straight above her was nothing but darkness.

 

Geralt leapt from the dinghy onto the hard ground and then helped Evie do the same. High walls of stone and brick rose straight up and towered above them. Evie saw at once that there was no way they could enter the city by climbing those. She then looked to her right at a large, pitch-black opening covered by a metal grate. She turned and peered at Geralt, waiting for his next instructions.  She saw him looking at the sewer’s opening and back at her several times, but he wasn’t saying or doing anything else.

 

            “What is it? Is something wrong?” she asked.

 

            He was quiet for several more moments before he finally spoke.

 

            “Evie, what are we doing?”

 

            She furrowed her brow. “What do you mean? You know what we’re doing. We need to speak with Claude about the tome. I think he can help us.”

 

            Geralt shook his head. “No. I mean…why are we even bothering with this whole mess? Let’s just go.”

 

            “What are you talking about? Go where?”

 

            “Anywhere.  Let’s just get on a boat and sail west. As far away as possible. You and me.”

 

            “Geralt…what about the Sword?

 

            “To hell with the Sword,” he said with heat.  If it was possible to both yell and whisper at the same time, the witcher had just done it.  “What is your obsession with finding it anyway? I _honestly_ don’t understand. Are you trying to prove something to your father?”

 

            Evie calmly stared into the witcher’s face and slowly shook her head.

 

“It’s not about my father. It’s not even about me. It’s about doing the right thing. It’s about not letting it fall into Emhyr’s hands.”

 

“I say…let the son-of-a-bitch have it.”

 

            “But…we can’t.  He could wipe out all the northern kingdoms. Do you want him in control of the entire Continent?”

 

            “Evie, I don’t give a _damn_ …about kingdoms or empires. I only care about you. So, let’s just leave. We don’t have to be involved. Let everyone on this gods-forsaken Continent kill each other for all I care. They all deserve one another.”

 

            “Geralt, you can’t mean that.”

 

            “The hell I can’t.  There’s no goodness here, Evie. There is _nothing_ worth saving. You act as if Emhyr is the bad guy. Let me clue you in - there _are_ no good guys.  Whoever replaces him will be just as bad. The history of this Continent is nothing but a history of war and oppression. For as long as I’ve been alive – long before Emhyr and Radovid were even born - the races of this land have done nothing but kill each other, and it hasn’t mattered which kings or which emperors sat on the thrones. Hell, you’re a historian. You of all people should know that. There’s never been peace…and there _never_ will be. So, what does it matter if they wage war with some new elven weapon or they simply go about it how they’ve always done it? Us finding the Sword won’t change a _damn_ thing.”

 

            “So…we just do _nothing_? We refuse to stand up against that oppression? Run away…like cowards?” A confused expression came to her face. “This isn’t like you, Geralt. You’re the bravest man I’ve ever met. What is going on with you?”

 

            Geralt lowered his eyes from hers and shook his head.

 

            “Geralt?” she asked softly.

 

            The witcher slowly raised his head again and stared into her eyes.

 

            “I already know how this is gonna end.” His voice was barely above a whisper.

 

            “What are you talking about? How what’s going to end?”

 

            “I can’t save you, Evie,” he said slowly. “Just like I couldn’t save Ciri. Just like I couldn’t save Iorveth…or Isaac…or Vatslav or Roach.  I’m doing everything that I know to do…but the ones I care about still keep dying. It’s _blind luck_ that you’re still alive. So, let’s just leave.  I…I can’t lose you, too.”

 

            The look in Geralt’s eyes was making Evie’s heart break. She stepped close and touched his cheek and then rested her hand on the side of his neck.

 

            “Is this why you’re having nightmares again?” she asked gently.

 

Since their wedding, Geralt had been free of his nightmares, but they had returned two nights ago after their time on the Nimnar River. They had not only woken Geralt from his sleep, but they’d woken her, too.    

 

            He lowered his head and gave it a slight shake. “I don’t know. Probably.”

 

            Evie reached up and grasped Geralt with both hands.

 

            “Geralt, I don’t want us to die, either. I want to grow old and gray with you. But, I feel like – no, I _know_ that finding this Sword is the right thing to do. And this isn’t simply the stubborn historian in me saying that. This Sword – or rod or whatever it is - isn’t just some ordinary artifact to be put in a museum.  It’s something…other-worldly.  I’m almost positive that it’s tied to Apophis, which means it could even be connected to the Conjunction of the Spheres.  Who knows? It may have even played some role in bringing magic into this world.  Finding the Sword is greater than…just the two of us.  To be honest, I feel like…this is all a part of Essea’s plan…and I want to be a part of it. I want to obey him. Didn’t you tell me the same thing back in the Blue Mountains? That you felt him leading you.”

 

            The witcher shook his head. “Not about this. I’ve just…felt him telling me to be with you, to protect you. I haven’t sensed one thing from him about the Sword.”

 

            “Then, do you know why he’s leading you to be with me, to protect me?”

 

            He shook his head again. “No. Why?”

 

            She smiled. “Well, I don’t know either, but I’m happy he is.  I’m happy you’ve listened to him. So…let’s both just keep trusting in his leading.  Like in that conversation you had with Nain, remember? We’re just too close to the painting right now.  We can’t see the big picture.  So, we just have to keep trusting and obeying him even when we don’t understand…right?”

 

            He exhaled deeply and then nodded his head. “I’m trying, Evie. I’m trying real hard.”

 

            “I know you are, Geralt. And I love you for it.”

 

She leaned in close and kissed her husband tenderly.  

           

            “So, Witcher, what’s the next step?” she asked after breaking the kiss. “We’re about to head into danger. What do we need to do to walk out safely?”

 

            Upon hearing that question, Evie saw iron resolve come to Geralt’s eyes.

 

            “Right,” he said, nodding his head. “More than likely, we’ll face drowners ahead. They’re not the most dangerous of creatures for a witcher, especially on land, but they could kill you quickly, particularly if you get surrounded. But, I also once came across a vampire in there, and they’re very dangerous – even for me. So, I think the safest plan is for me to scout ahead one tunnel at a time, remove any danger, and then come back to get you.  And, we’ll just repeat that process until we get to an exit. But, that doesn’t mean that I want you sitting back, doing nothing.  Have your crossbow and a bomb at the ready. Okay?”

 

            Evie really wanted to be right next to Geralt as he fought whatever lay ahead in the tunnels, for she cared just as much about his safety as he did for hers. But she knew that, at that moment, what he needed most was the calming knowledge that she was free from danger.  Therefore, she was willing to put aside what she wanted to help her husband be the strong leader they both needed him to be.

 

            “Okay,” she said with a nod. “Whatever you need me to do.”

 

            Earlier, the witcher had coated his silver blade with necrophage oil.  Now, he grabbed three vials from a pouch. 

 

            “I’ve warned before about touching me when I have potions coursing through me. But, I need to warn you again. I’m about to take an elixir called Black Blood.”

 

            “Are you serious? You’re actually going to drink something called _Black Blood_?”

 

            “Yeah. And it’s as bad as it sounds. It basically turns my blood into acid. It’s particularly useful against necrophages and vampires. Anyway, until I tell you it’s safe, don’t touch me at all.”

 

            “Got it.”

 

            Evie watched as the witcher tilted his head back and downed the three potions. He inhaled sharply through clenched jaws. He seemed to stagger slightly and quickly put his left hand out against the brick wall to steady himself.  He stood there silently for almost half a minute, simply breathing in and out slowly and deeply. Eventually, he looked at Evie.

 

“Okay. I don’t want you out here by yourself. So, after I enter the sewers, step in right behind me. But, then…just stop. Don’t follow me. Don’t investigate anything. I’ll come back for you when things are clear. And stay along the edges of the tunnel.  The sludge and sewage runs down the middle.  Any questions?”

 

            Evie shook her head and then watched Geralt head through an opening in the grate and into the tunnel.  She stepped in right behind him and was both immediately assaulted by the stench and swallowed up by the darkness.  She lifted her hand up to cover her nose and mouth and literally couldn’t see her hand in front of her face.  She reached straight out in front of her, hoping to make contact with the back of the witcher, but he was already gone. She just blindly swept the empty air in front of her. As she pulled her hand back to cover her nose and mouth, she realized that she could hear noises coming from further up the tunnel.  The unmistakable sounds of rodents – tiny claws scratching the brick walls and floors of the sewer as they scurried along. The squeaks emanating from their disease-infested mouths sent a shiver up her spine, and she immediately moved her hand down to her bandolier and gripped a bomb.

 

            “Geralt!” she hissed.

 

There was no reply.  She whispered his name again, but again, the sounds of sewage and rats running along the ground was the only answer she heard. She turned her head to look behind her. The illumination from the stars was just enough that she could make out the black water of the canal.  

 

            “What’s wrong?”

 

His voice was suddenly two feet behind her, and she yelped and jumped back towards the sewer’s exit. She hadn’t heard him approach. He was like a ghost in the dark.

 

            “Damn it, Geralt!” she gasped. “Don’t scare me like that.”

 

            “Sorry.  So, what is it? I heard you call my name.”

 

            “I…I just wanted to say hurry back.”

 

            He paused briefly before answering. “Okay.”

 

            She wanted to kiss and hug him one last time, but she knew she couldn’t due to the potions that he’d consumed. She opened her eyes as wide as she could, hoping to catch a glimpse of her husband, but the darkness was simply too thick.  She could almost sense it pressing in around her.

           

            “Do you think it would be okay if I lit a torch?” she whispered.

 

            But he didn’t answer. 

 

            “Geralt?”

 

            She reached out in front of her again but only felt the empty air.  He was already gone. 

 

            “Damn it.”

 

            Her heart was still racing from having been startled so.  She really wanted to lean her back against the wall of the tunnel.  The thought of having something solid behind her so that nothing could sneak up on her was comforting.  However, then she thought about what potentially slimy, disgusting sludge could be oozing down the wall and decided against it.

 

To distract herself from the fact that she was now alone in the darkness, Evie thought about their discussion earlier at the sewer entrance. She truly did understand Geralt’s point of view. There was a large part of her that would like to simply run away, too. She didn’t enjoy being in danger.  Standing in this rat-infested sewer confirmed that. She’d much rather be living a peaceful life with her witcher on their vineyard in Toussaint.  But, she was truly convinced that Essea wanted them to find the Sword. To what end, she wasn’t sure, but she could feel it down in her soul. She hadn’t received any dreams or visions telling her that this was Essea’s plan, but she simply believed that everything that had happened in the past several weeks was just too much of a coincidence to be anything other the divine hand of God.  And she realized something else - that she had never felt more purposeful than in the last month, doing what she thought was his will.

 

Those last thoughts were truly strange ones, though. Having grown up hearing stories from her grandmother, she obviously knew of Essea, but the truth was that prior to meeting Geralt, she wouldn’t have said that she was one of his followers or even truly believed in his existence.  To her, Essea had been simply one of the many gods in the pantheon of the world’s religions. No more real or meaningful to her than Melitele, the Great Sun, Freya, or any other. She had certainly always believed in a higher power, but she’d never adhered to any one single religion.  In her mind, there was simply one God at the top of the “mountain,” and all the different religions were just the various pathways to ascend to the summit. They all led to the same place. It didn’t ultimately matter which religion you followed or what name you called God. As long as you simply did your best to to live a good life, then you’d eventually get to the peak regardless of which side of the mountain you climbed. But, in the last four weeks, her thoughts about God had changed, and she wasn’t exactly sure why.  Perhaps it was due to all the discussions she’d been having with Geralt and Nain. Maybe, it was due to the extensive reading and translation of the Essean tome that she’d undertaken in the last month.  Regardless, something had happened to her. Something she couldn’t explain.  Despite the many questions she still possessed about him and his ways, she was now simply convinced that Essea was the one, true living God.  Those thoughts, she realized, were bringing her peace as she stood in the dark, and so she began to pray to Essea, that he would protect Geralt. And the longer she prayed, the more at ease she felt.

 

After several minutes, she was suddenly brought out of her prayer by the distant sounds of screeching coming from somewhere in darkness. She wasn’t sure what was making the noise, but it was clearly not human, and the noise was too loud to be from rats. Instantly, the fear that she had previously felt flooded back in as she wondered if Geralt was safe.  Despite his instructions to stay put, she started gradually taking small steps forward, towards the commotion.  If he was hurt, then she had to help him.

 

Evie wasn’t sure how long it had been since she’d last spoken to Geralt, but, to her, it felt like half an hour.  But, then, less than five minutes after the terrifying, screeching noises had echoed down the tunnels, she heard her name being called from somewhere ahead of her.  

 

            “I’m coming back down,” she heard Geralt whisper. And, then, suddenly, he was right in front of her.

 

            “It’s me,” he said. “I tried not to scare you that time.” 

 

            “Thanks,” she answered in a shaky voice.  “What was that noise?”

 

            “Drowners.”

 

            “Are you injured?”

 

            “No. Piece of cake. Come on.  I’m going to turn around. Just grab one of my scabbards and follow me.”

 

            As they started to creep along in the darkened tunnel, she kept hearing the occasional loud squeal in front of Geralt.  It sounded like they were coming from rats.

 

            “What is going on?” she asked.

 

            “Skewering any rats that I see.  Wouldn’t be good if they bit you.”

 

            “No…no it wouldn’t. Thanks.” There was a mixture of genuine appreciation and trepidation in her voice. 

 

            For several minutes, Geralt and Evie walked slowly along in the blackness.  After the witcher had made numerous left and right turns, Evie was utterly lost. She realized that she’d never make it back to the sewer’s entrance on her own.  If anything happened to the witcher, she knew that she’d be completely helpless.  Even though Geralt was right in front of her, she could feel her anxiety rising with every step, for she knew that shortly he’d be leaving her alone again.

 

Suddenly, Geralt whispered, “We need to stop right here.”

 

            Evie wouldn’t have thought that it was possible, but the tunnels seemed even darker than before. 

 

            “I can’t even see where ‘here’ is.”

 

            “It’ll be okay.  Just like the first time.  I’ll only be gone for a few minutes, and then I’ll come back and get you when I know it’s safe ahead.”

 

            Evie held on tightly to his scabbard.

 

“Geralt, please. I know that you want me to stay safe, but please don’t leave me by myself again.  I can’t stand being alone down here in the dark. If we see any monsters, I promise I’ll stay back…I won’t get in the way, but don’t leave me alone again. Please.”

 

            The witcher turned around to look at his wife. The Cat potion that he had taken earlier enhanced his already superhuman night-vision capabilities so he could clearly see the fear on her face. But even if he hadn’t been able to see it, the fear in her voice was unmistakable. He hated that. Hated that she was terrified. Hated that he was putting his own wife in danger. Hated that, in that moment, he couldn’t even pull her into a hug to comfort her.  And, then, he could feel the anger within start to build. Anger at the situation they were in.  Anger at Emhyr…at Philippa…at Radovid.  Anger at himself. And anger at Essea. Whatever plan God had with regards to this Sword, why couldn’t he just do it himself? If he was such an all-powerful God, then why did he even need any help? Why get Evie involved at all? Geralt didn’t understand any of it. He may have come to the point where he believed in Essea’s existence, but that was about the extent of his belief. He was having a hard time trusting that Essea was in control of this “plan” to find the Sword.  Too many people had already died on this journey for Geralt to believe that. And if Isaac and the others having to die was a part of Essea’s plan, then, frankly, Geralt wanted no part of it.

 

            “Okay. I won’t leave you alone. Ever again.” He saw the look of relief on her face as she exhaled deeply. “We’re almost to an exit anyway.  But, if we encounter _anything_ from here on out, please stay back and let me handle it, okay? I mean, hell, you’re not even wearing any armor.”

 

            “Don’t worry. I don’t want to get near anything down here.”

 

            The two made their way slowly through the tunnels, the witcher giving a quick flick of his blade anytime a rat crossed his path.  Eventually, he stopped unexpectedly, causing Evie to bump into his back.

 

            “Why’d you stop?” she whispered.

 

            “Shhhh.”

 

            Like every known woman alive, being shushed rankled Evie, but given the circumstances, she decided to give her husband a pass this time. 

 

After about five more seconds of silence, she asked, “What do you hear?”

 

            “Nothing…and that’s what worries me. It’s completely silent.”

 

            Evie strained her ears. Sure enough, she couldn’t pick up the faintest of sounds either. Not any rats scurrying along the tunnel floor. Not even the drip of water or sewage through any pipes. The complete silence was unnatural and unnerving.

 

            “Ah, damn it!” the witcher exclaimed, and then Evie was startled by a Quen Sign being cast just inches in front of her.

 

            “What! What is it?” she hissed.

 

            “Fog…and it shouldn’t be down here.  Stay here. And whatever you do, stay out of the fog,” he said before moving forward. 

 

The shimmer of his Quen shield produced just enough illumination that Evie could see the tunnel ahead.  She watched the witcher approach a grate that spanned the entirety of the tunnel. As he passed through the open door of the grate, he grabbed it with his left hand and slammed it shut behind him - the loud, metallic clank reverberating down the stone walls of the tunnel. On the other side of the grate, she could no longer see the tunnel’s walls.  She assumed that he’d walked into some kind of open area, but she had no way of knowing how big it was.  Then, suddenly, she could detect just the dimmest of white light through the fog, like a beacon on a gloomy night.

 

            As Geralt approached the fog, he pulled a Moon Dust bomb from his belt, and suddenly, to Evie’s eyes, it looked as if the fog started to swirl in front of the witcher.  Immediately, he tossed the bomb into the fog, and when it exploded against the stone floor near his feet, a hideous monster instantaneously appeared right in front of him.  The tall, skeletal-like creature slashed its claws at the monster-slayer, shattering his Quen shield and causing the tunnel to be swallowed by the darkness again. Evie had only glimpsed the beast momentarily, but, to her, it looked like a much bigger and much more dangerous nekker with particularly long claws and an enormous head.

 

            While Evie couldn’t see anything in the blackness, she could clearly hear the monster hissing and screeching.  It took a moment, but then she realized that she was hearing multiple monsters, not just one. Suddenly, the room ahead glowed dimly in orange light as Geralt cast another Quen Sign. She heard more monstrous howls and saw a flash of light as the witcher signed a flaming Igni, and then she saw him skip backwards across her line of sight to the other side of the room.  Almost immediately, she noticed the thick, swirling fog heading in his direction.

 

            Evie didn’t know what to do.  She didn’t want to throw any bombs into the room for fear of injuring Geralt, and she figured that a crossbow bolt would pass directly through the mist. She began to inch her way forward towards the grate, hoping that she could get a better look at what was ahead. She wanted to help Geralt in any way that she could. Maybe when the creature showed itself next, she could fire off a bolt – if not to kill it, then to at least distract it so that Geralt could finish it off.

 

            Geralt – standing inside a storage room with various barrels, crates, and bags full of building materials - quickly realized that he was facing not one but two foglets, magical creatures that could shift their bodies into immaterial mist to hide within fog. These monsters typically prowled in swamps and caves, locations where fog naturally arose.  However, he also knew that they could magically create their own fog when needed.  Like in these sewers.  If their immaterial form didn’t make them hard enough to kill, they also had the ability to conjure corporeal copies of themselves to aid in their attacks. Thus, in that small room, the witcher found himself battling anywhere between two to six foglets at once. 

 

The White Wolf cast an Aard at the fog circling towards him.  The telekinetic blast impacted three foglets, causing them to materialize and knocking them back several feet. The monster-slayer whirled, slicing and spinning his way through the hideous creatures. His whirl came to a stop, and he saw another ball of thick fog quickly approaching from his right. He turned and cast another Aard in its direction. The lone foglet flew backwards and slammed into the metal grate directly in front of Evie, eliciting a frightened yell from the historian.  The witcher looked to his left and saw a large, storage crate next to him.  He spun his body, picking up the heavy box as he did so, and as he completed the turn, he heaved it as hard as he could. The crate slammed into the foglet, knocking him, once again, back against the now-damaged metal door.

 

            Seeing the monster pinned against the grate ten feet in front of her, Evie hopped back to give herself a bit of distance and then tossed a Dancing Star bomb in its direction. The explosive device detonated when it hit the metal, exploding in a fiery ball, and the foglet screeched in pain as its body began to burn.  She immediately lifted her crossbow and fired a bolt into the monster’s back, making it howl even more. 

                       

            The witcher battled the other foglet in the storage room - a blur of dodges, twists, and attacks.  The bomb thrown by Evie exploded behind him, distracting him for just a moment. A moment was all the creature needed. The foglet swiped downward with its left claw, again smashing the witcher’s Quen shield. In the blink of the eye, before Geralt had a chance to evade, the monster attacked with its right claw, drawing blood as its hardened nails pierced Geralt’s armor along his shoulder.  The White Wolf didn’t even wince, but the foglet howled as the witcher’s toxic blood began to eat through the flesh of its fingers.  The monster-slayer ignored the wound and swung his sword true – removing the foglet’s head.  He quickly cast another Quen, and immediately ran towards the foglet still pinned to the grate.  Just before plunging his sword through its chest, the foglet transformed into mist, and his sword pierced nothing but air, the blade passing through an opening in the grate.  Geralt jumped back, preparing himself for the next attack, but instead of moving towards the witcher, the fog drifted backward, through the grate and into the tunnel where Evie stood.  As he realized what was happening, the witcher’s eyes went wide.

 

            “Evie, run!”

 

            Geralt threw the crate aside and reached for the metal door, but when he tried to pull it open, it wouldn’t budge.  The impact from the foglet slamming into it had bent the grate, and now the door was jammed shut. The witcher put his foot up on the grate and pulled on the door with all his strength, letting out an agonizing shout, the veins popping from his neck.  But, the door stayed closed.

 

He lifted his eyes towards to the tunnel, and he yelled again, “Run, Evie! Run!”

 

            Evie had her head down trying to re-cock her crossbow.  When she heard Geralt yell her name, she raised her head and saw the fog slowly moving in her direction. She immediately threw the crossbow into the fog and ran down the pitch-black tunnel as fast as she could. She heard a hissing growl behind her, and when she looked back she could just make out the silhouette of the monster, back-lit by Geralt’s Quen shield.  She kept running until her lungs burned and she was no longer in sight of Geralt. She paused for just a second to catch her breath and realized that she was completely enveloped by the darkness. She tried to listen closely for the monster, but her breathing was too loud. She took a gulp of air and held her breath, but she still heard nothing except her blood pounding in her ears. She reached out her hand and felt the cold brick of the tunnel. She turned and started running again, now keeping her fingertips along the wall to give her some sense of where she was in the dark.

 

            Less than a minute later, she lost touch with the stone wall of the tunnel, but before her brain even registered that fact, her face smacked into a hard surface, and she fell back onto her rear.  Pain was shooting through her forehead, and she was now seeing nothing but white flashes of light. She crawled forward and touched the wall in front of her and realized that the tunnel she’d been fleeing down had ended.  Then, she heard a monstrous hissing sound echo down the tunnel towards her.  She staggered to her feet and headed to the right, now with both hands out if front of her.  The hissing behind her was growing louder and closer.  Suddenly, she heard an explosion from somewhere deep in the sewers, but she didn’t stop to contemplate it. She knew that she had to keep moving.

 

She had only stumbled forward about twenty feet when she ran into something that hit her right below her knees. She let out a small yelp as pain shot through her shins, and she fell forward, her palms landing on a flat, wooden surface. She frantically began running her hands over the wood.  It felt like some kind of platform or scaffolding that held boxes and crates.  She bent down and blindly reached under the platform.  When she felt nothing but air, she quickly dropped onto her stomach and crawled forward.  She had only crawled a few feet when her fingertips hit a brick wall.  Obviously, the platform was only three of four feet wide. She knew her legs were still exposed so she immediately flipped onto her side and brought her knees up to her chest. She slowly lifted one hand and felt the bottom of the wooden platform just above her head. She moved her hand downward towards her feet, sensing the wood the entire time. She continued to scooch her body back against the wall as tight as she could and hoped that she was now hidden. And then she listened.

 

A minute passed while Evie did her best to control her breathing and strained her ears to pick up any kind of sounds, but all she could hear was sewer water dripping from somewhere nearby.  And then she heard the squeak of a rat, and a moment later, she felt something crawl onto her foot.  Her body involuntarily jerked, and she immediately covered her mouth with her hand, not wanting to scream. The large rodent slowly crawled up her leg, and she felt its claws digging into the fabric of her trousers.  It moved its snout back and forth across her body, both sniffing and making tiny nibbling noises with its mouth. She squeezed both hands into tight fists as the hair on the back of her neck stood on end.  As it made its way up her torso and onto her right arm, she carefully moved her left hand towards the cat-sized rat.  She could hear it breathing just inches from her ear. Quickly, she grabbed it by its fur and violently tossed it away from her.   She heard it squeal when it hit the floor, and then it scurried off.  She curled herself up tighter into the fetal position and hugged her knees as hard as she could as shivers ran up her spine. 

 

As she lay on the hard, brick floor, her heart pounding in her chest, the strangest thing happened. Suddenly, verses from the Essean tome flooded into her thoughts. Words that had resonated with her when she had first read them in the original Elder Speech and, again, when she’d translated them into Common for Geralt’s book less than two weeks ago.  And despite her fears – or perhaps, because of them - she began to whisper Essea’s promise to herself.

 

“Fear not, for I am with you. Be not troubled, for I am your God. I will give you strength in your weakness; I will help in your affliction; and I will hold you securely in my righteous right hand,” was the verse that she began to repeat over and over in her mind.

 

Despite the calming influence of the prayer, there was so much adrenaline coursing through her veins and into her muscles that her body started to shake.  And then she heard it. The hissing growl of the foglet.  She wasn’t sure, but it sounded like the monster was at the tunnel intersection where she’d slammed her face into the wall.  She immediately held her breath, trying her best not to make any noise. For ten, then twenty, then thirty seconds she heard nothing.  She was staring straight ahead into the darkness, but there was not even the tiniest ray of light penetrating the blackness. And then she heard the sounds of steps on the stone floor of the tunnel. Steps that were splashing through water. Steps heading in her direction. 

 

“Please, let it go past me,” she prayed in silence.

 

But the scuffling of footsteps stopped just in front of her hiding place. She could detect the foglet breathing deeply.

 

Then, her eyes widened as she realized the breathing was getting closer.  It sounded like the monster was now kneeling in front of the platform. She would swear that it was just inches in front of her.

 

Suddenly, she heard a hiss and felt the rake of a claw across her knees.  She screamed in pain and flattened her body against the back wall of the tunnel.

 

“Geralt! Geralt!” she screamed as she could feel the monster’s claw slicing the air just inches from her. After several missed attempts, she sensed the creature pull its arm back.  She couldn’t see it, but she knew it was staring right at her. A menacing, slow hiss escaped its throat, and she could smell the stench of decay on its breath.

 

Then, the hiss was gone, and she heard noises coming from above her.  The foglet smashed the barrels and crates that were on top of the platform and then began prying at the wooden boards, screeching in anger.  Evie yelled in fright as the monster jammed its sharp nails into the spaces between the slats and tried to tear them apart.  Evie heard the wood snapping just above her head. She reached down to her thigh and grabbed the knife from its scabbard.  She held it in front of her, both hands on the hilt, not really knowing what to do next.  She heard a loud cracking sound above her and then a long, slow hiss from just a foot above her head. She blindly jabbed her knife upwards and felt it sink into the monster’s face.  The foglet let out an angry cry, and Evie desperately shifted her body away from the opening above.  The problem was that she couldn’t see just where the wooden platform ended.  She didn’t want to shift too much and maneuver herself out from under its protection.  She curled herself back into a tight ball, trembling with her back against the wall, and, in her mind, she cried out to Essea. 

 

“Essea, please save me. Help Geralt find me,” she thought to herself over and over.

 

oOo

 

            The witcher let go of the metal grate and yelled in frustration.  He quickly turned around and scanned the room.  In one corner, next to a crate, a sledge hammer caught his eye.  He ran over, grabbed it, and then returned to the metal grate.  He swung the heavy tool against the door several times, but it still remained closed.  In fact, he thought that the blows might have actually made things worse.   His eyes quickly moved to his right, and he saw a small gap between the grate and the brick wall.  An idea flashed through his mind, and he started pounding away at the brick wall in that area.  With each swing of the hammer, he knocked away chunks of brick and mortar.  He looked and saw that the gap was now big enough for his plan.  He grabbed two Dancing Star bombs from his bandolier and placed them both securely in the gap between the grate and the wall.  He moved to the other side of the room, and just after hurling his last Dancing Star at the opposite wall, he cast a Quen dome and covered his ears.  The explosion shook the room, and bits of stone bounced off his shield.  He ran through the smoke and looked at the result.  The grate was mangled and there was a large opening in the brick wall.  He squeezed through and began sprinting down the tunnel.  He had to get to Evie.  Despite the fact that he had trained her in the proper use of bombs, a knife, and a crossbow, she stood no chance against a foglet.  As he ran, he chastised himself.  He knew he should have kept her further back in the tunnels, away from danger. If anything happened to her, he’d never forgive himself.

 

            He came to the end of the tunnel and saw that he could either go left or right.  He scanned the sewer floor to his right, saw both human and foglet tracks, and immediately ran in that direction. All the while listening for any clues.  Less than a minute later, he heard the hisses and shrieks of the foglet, but he didn’t hear anything from Evie.  He came upon another intersection of tunnels and saw the foglet ahead, bending over a wooden platform, slashing its claws downward, and pulling up planks of wood.  He ran directly at the monster and leapt at its back, his sword pulled back to his shoulder.  The creature sensed movement behind him and turned, and the monster-slayer plunged his sword straight through the foglet’s chest - the momentum of his leap knocking them both on top of the platform.  Despite having a blade through its chest, the monster was not yet dead and tried to claw at Geralt’s face.  As the witcher put both arms up to protect himself, he noticed a knife sticking out of the foglet’s cheek.  He quickly pulled the knife out and began hammering the creature’s skull over and over with the weapon.  Eventually, the foglet’s arms fell slack to its side, but Geralt, in his rage, kept piercing the monster’s head with the blade, each blow punctuated by a frenzied, desperate growl. 

 

The witcher finally came to his senses and realized the foglet was dead.  Breathing heavy, he leapt off its corpse. He looked down into the hole of the damaged platform and saw Evie’s legs. Blood – that looked black in the darkness – covered her trousers.  He didn’t see any movement from his wife and his breath caught in his throat.  He jumped off the platform, dropped flat on his stomach, and crawled under the platform. He saw that Evie’s eyes were closed, and for a moment he feared she was dead. But then he saw that her lips were moving and that she was whispering to herself. A rush of air exploded from Geralt’s lungs.  He hadn’t even realized that he’d been holding his breath.

 

            “Evie? Baby, tell me you’re okay,” he pleaded.

 

Evie opened her eyes, let out a sob of relief and reached forward for her witcher.  

 


	13. Chapter 13

            The three Nilfgaardian frigates moved eastward through the fog towards Novigrad.  Emhyr noticed on his port side the lighthouse from Crane Cap warning ships of land just ahead, and he nodded his head slowly. Soon, he thought. Very soon.

 

            He then turned to his right, to his second in command.

 

            “Give the order. Remove them from their crates.”

 

oOo

 

Evie stood in the sewers with her trousers down around her ankles. While Geralt knelt in front of her and applied some medicinal ointment to her knees and shins, she asked, “So, after all that, we’re going to find a different way to leave town, right?”

 

            “Why?” he asked, looking up with a tiny smirk on his face. “Pretty sure we killed all the monsters down here.  Should be smooth sailing on the way out.”

 

            He saw a touch of fear come to his wife’s eyes so his smirk immediately vanished, and he added, “But, we can play it by ear, okay?”

           

After the battle against the foglets, Geralt and Evie had both taken health potions, and then the witcher had tended to her injuries. She had a large knot on her forehead and small gash across the bridge of her nose from running into the brick wall.  But, it was her lower legs about which he was most concerned.  The cuts from the foglet’s claws weren’t deep, but he was wary of infection.  He’d need to keep a close eye on her injuries. 

 

After he finished applying the ointment, his eyes began to roam over Evie’s smooth, muscular legs, and he ran his hands ever so softly over her skin, causing goosebumps to pop up over her thighs. 

 

“Witcher?”

 

“Uh huh?”

 

“What are you doing?”

 

He finally looked up, into his wife’s eyes. She saw mischief in his.

 

“Just…checking for other injuries.  I wish we had time for a full-body, physical exam.”

 

“Me, too.  It’s been a couple of days since you last gave me one.”

 

“Yeah,” he said after exhaling deeply. 

 

He slowly and carefully pulled her trousers back up over her injuries and then further upward, past the curve of her hips and butt.  After buckling her belt, Evie looked up to see the witcher standing and slipping out of his body armor. 

 

“My turn,” he stated.

 

The shoulder area of his white, cotton undershirt was ripped and soaked red with blood.  He pulled the shirt over his head, and Evie sharply sucked in air when she saw the deep gash running down his left shoulder and into his upper arm.  The witcher dug around in his satchel and eventually came out with his curved needle and manticore hair.

 

As he held them out to his wife, he smiled. “Remember how to do this?”

 

She gave him a look. “Yes…but can we please not turn this into a habit?”

 

“I can’t promise you that. Besides, I kinda like it when you take care of me.”

 

“Is that right?” she asked, peering into his eyes.  He nodded.

 

“Well, that’s good…cause I _like_ taking care of my brave witcher.  Of course, knowing you, you probably consider all of this - getting stitched up - as foreplay,” she said with a smile.

 

            “Wife, as far as I’m concerned, when it comes to you, I consider everything to be foreplay,” he answered with a smirk.

 

            Evie shook her head. “I must be in love,” she said as she stepped up close.

 

            “Why’s that?”

 

            “To think a cheesy line like that is actually cute.” The witcher’s smirk grew a little wider. “That, and despite being in a monster-infested, foul-smelling sewer, I _really_ want you right now.”  Evie’s voice had turned a little husky as she brought her face just inches from Geralt’s.

 

The witcher now wore a full smile. “That’s just the adrenaline and excitement. Your body wants to burn it off, to celebrate being alive. After a contract, I always used to…you know what - never mind.”

 

He brought her lips to his and kissed her hard.  As he began to undo her belt that she had just buckled, she urgently reached for his, as well.

 

“What about your shoulder?” she asked breathlessly, in between kisses.

 

“It can wait.”

 

oOo

           

            Thirty minutes later, the witcher carried stitches in his shoulder and a very satisfied smile on his face.  As he and Evie – hand in hand - approached the exit from the sewers, Geralt suddenly stopped and turned to his wife.

 

            “Last time I was here, Temple Guards were all over the city. Patrolling the streets at all hours of the day. I wasn’t really welcome here then.  Probably less so now. So, give me a moment.”

 

            Geralt took his swords off his back since that would be a dead-giveaway as to what he was.  He strapped his steel sword to his hip and covered himself with his cloak.  But, this time, he decided to keep the cowl down.  He’d learned his lesson in Ban Ard about looking suspicious.  Evie rubbed some of Benny’s ointment on his facial scars, and almost instantly, they disappeared.  He grabbed his shaded glasses and put those on to conceal his eyes.  Finally, he strapped his silver sword around Evie’s waist. 

 

            “You’re just gonna carry it, okay? I don’t expect you to use it.  If we run into trouble, use the weapons that I’ve trained you with.”

 

After getting a nod from Evie, Geralt opened a gate, and the two of them walked out of the sewers and into The Bits, one of the more run-down neighborhoods of Novigrad.  The sun had still not yet made its appearance over the horizon, but the darkness in the sky was being chased away by the morning light.

 

            “Oh…praise Essea,” gasped Evie as she stepped out into the relatively fresh air. 

 

            “I’ll praise him once we’re out of this hell hole.”

 

            Evie nodded and then looked around, but she didn’t recognize where they were.

 

            “How far from the fish market are we?” she asked.

 

            “Ten or fifteen minutes.” He then looked her in the eye. “Just because we’re out of the sewers, don’t think we’re safe.  In fact, it’s probably more dangerous up here than down below.  Remember, we’re going to do our best to avoid detection, but don’t make it _obvious_ that we’re trying to avoid detection.”

 

            “Right. And just how do I do that?”

 

            “I don’t know. Just…walk casually.”

 

            As they moved along the street that was mostly covered in shadows, Evie looked about.  It had been at least five or six years since she’d last set foot in the one-time capital of Redania.  But, even in all her previous visits, there were parts of the city that she’d never ventured into. The Bits was certainly one of them.  With pigs and other livestock roaming the muddy roads, the smell there wasn’t much better than the sewers that they’d just left. She noticed vagrants curled up under porches and in alleyways and wondered just what events had conspired for them to end up there.  Many of the houses she passed had broken windows, and a few were even missing their front doors.  The occasional building had what Evie assumed was a single candle burning within, its small flame refracting through a dirtied pane of glass. Luckily, the streets of the ghetto were mostly deserted at that time of the morning. The drunkards and fisstech users had already stumbled home – wherever that may be – to throw up, pass out, and sleep things off until it was time for the next drink or fix. The few pedestrians already up and about were most likely those fortunate enough to be employed in that time of war. She noticed that they all quickly scuttled along the muddy walkways with their eyes downcast.  It seemed that they were just as nervous about being out as she was, as if they instinctively knew that the darkness was where the devil most loved to play.

 

            Evie walked slightly behind Geralt since he knew where he was going. As they came around a corner, her body tensed as she noticed three Temple Guards at the far end of the block, walking in their direction.

 

            “Easy. Just act natural,” whispered Geralt, as if he had read her mind.

 

            After a few more steps, she felt him tugging on her sleeve.

 

            “This way.”

 

            Evie followed the witcher under an archway and into a narrow alley, which ran behind and between several buildings. The two- to three-story high, stone structures towered over them on both sides blocking out the early morning light. On the backside of the buildings, there were numerous crates stacked about, creating all sorts of dark hidey-holes.  Evie’s eyes darted back and forth, on alert for danger.  She stepped into a shallow puddle of dirty, brown liquid, the sound of the splash causing her look down. She hoped the puddle was full of nothing but rainwater, but the odor made her doubt that.

 

            “Whazzat? Waddawah?”

 

            She jumped at the voice coming from her left, down near her feet.  A homeless man, sleeping between two crates, looked at Evie briefly with glassy eyes before lowering his head back down on his arm. 

 

            “Come on,” urged Geralt, gently grasping Evie’s arm.

 

            They quickly exited the alley without any more surprises, and as she stepped out into the connecting street, it seemed to her that they’d just walked into a completely different city.  The cobblestone streets were free of garbage, livestock, and feces and were lined with beautiful flowers instead of sleeping vagrants.  She instantly recognized the area and knew that they were very close to Hierarch Square.  They came to an intersection where they could only go left or right, and Evie felt Geralt nudge her to the left, away from the square, and then, suddenly, he grabbed her hand, stopping her in her tracks.  Down the way, near one of the city’s many temples to the Eternal Fire were several more guards, along with some witch hunters.

 

“Damn it,” she heard him whisper. “Come on.”

 

They quickly did an about-face and headed back towards Hierarch Square.  As they followed the road around a small curve to the left, the square came into view, with colorful flags and banners hanging overhead, snapping in the morning breeze.  But right before actually entering the plaza, she felt Geralt nudge her into a wide but short alley to her left.  They quickly came to a high wooden fence covered with elegant-looking drapery.  Geralt tried the knob on the door of the fence but found it locked.  He quickly swiveled his head around as he suddenly heard both men’s voices and the unmistakable clinking sound of guards wearing metal armor coming their way.  He immediately turned his left shoulder towards the door and pressed hard against it.  An instant later, Evie heard wood snap as the door opened, and they stepped through and shut the door just a few seconds before two Temple Guards appeared. Geralt pushed Evie to one side of the doorway and brought a finger up to his lips in the universal sign for silence while at the same time unsheathing his knife.

 

            “Didja ‘ear that?”

 

            “Wha?”

 

            Evie could clearly hear the two Redanians on the other side of the fence.

 

            “Thought I ‘eard somethin’ over there.”

 

            “For Fire’s sake, Ollie. Ya always think you’s hearin’ sumpin’.”

 

            “Well, I’m gonna check.”

 

            “Ollie, our watch is jus’ endin’. Don’t go lookin’ for trouble.”

 

            “It’ll jus’ be a sec.”

 

            Evie’s eyes widened as she heard the tell-tale metallic sound of the man’s armor coming near.  She looked at Geralt on the other side of the door from her. He stood just a foot away from the threshold, his weapon at the ready.  With each step that the soldier took, she heard the ominous clinking noise getting closer. She quickly looked down at the door knob, then to Geralt, and back to the door.

 

            “The door looks busted,” said Ollie.

 

Evie held her breath and quietly unsheathed her knife.

 

            The door slowly moved open about a foot and then stopped.  She couldn’t see what was happening on the other side of the door, but she heard Geralt whisper, “You see nothing but a mangy, gray dog. Now, close the door and leave.”

 

            A second later, the door shut.

 

            “Ah, ‘twas just a mangy dog.”

 

            “Told ya it was nothin’, Ollie. Let’s git to the barracks.”

 

            Evie let out a breath, her heart still thumping fast in her chest.

 

As Geralt led Evie across on open area with a large stage to the right, she whispered, “Axii?”

 

“Yeah.”

 

“I thought you were just going to kill him.”

 

“Knew you wouldn’t want me to.”

 

She reached out and grabbed his hand, pulling him to a stop.

 

“What is it?”

 

She had a smile on her face. “Have I told you today how much I love you?”

 

He gave a small smile back. “No.”

 

“I do.” And then she kissed him – very hard.

 

The witcher finally broke the kiss. “Wife, be careful how you kiss me. Don’t start something you’re not willing to finish.”

 

“Who said I’m not?  I still feel _really_ randy.”

 

The witcher shook his head but had a smirk on his face.  “You are the best wife ever. Come on.”

 

Before Evie could respond, he pulled her quickly to the backstage area, through a door in another high fence, and finally out onto a second-floor, open-air platform holding another shrine to the Eternal Flame.  Evie looked down over the platform’s railing and saw a narrow canal running through the city. 

 

            “Why didn’t we just go through the square?” Evie whispered as they descended the steps.

 

            “Didn’t want to risk it. Last time I was here, it was teeming with un-friendlies. Let’s go. Almost there.”

 

            Two minutes later, when Geralt and Evie arrived at Novigrad’s fish market, it was still relatively empty.  During the summer months, early morning was one of the best times for fishing, and therefore, most fishermen were still out on their boats at that time of day. The few merchants that were already setting up their stalls were selling other types of goods – furs, ink wells, candles, tools, and other junk. The fish market wouldn’t get truly busy until an hour or so after sunrise.  The two of them walked slowly around the empty fish stands until they saw a blacksmith sign just above the quiet shop.  Even though Evie and Claude had divorced almost a decade ago, they had seen each other a few times over the years. About five years ago, they’d worked together at an archeological site in Nazair.  It was then that he’d mentioned that he and his family lived in the fish market of Novigrad, two doors down from a blacksmith.  Evie had remembered because Claude had joked that his wife must truly love him to put up with both the smell from the fish market and the constant metal-on-metal clanking of the blacksmith’s hammer pounding his anvil all day.

 

            Eventually, Evie found the right place.

 

            “This is it,” she stated, standing outside the front door of a two-story building.  To the right of the door was a small wooden sign with the name “Debussy” carved into it.

 

            After a moment, Geralt asked, “So…you gonna knock?”

 

            Evie looked at him with a nervous look on her face.  “Never thought I’d be introducing my ex-husband to my current husband.”

 

            “Yeah…life is messy.  Want me to wait over there while you talk to him?”

 

            “Never. You and I are a team. We stick together no matter how messy life gets,” she answered and then touched his face.

 

            The two stared into each other’s eyes and smiled warmly.

 

            “Thanks, Evie.”

 

            “For what?”

 

            “For…being my best friend.”

 

            “Always, Geralt.” And then the two kissed softly. 

 

            As they pulled back from the kiss, Geralt shook his head.

 

“Damn, now I’m the one who’s randy again.”   

 

            Evie smiled. “Tonight?”

 

            “For sure.”

 

            “Good. Now, let’s do this.”

 

She exhaled deeply, turned to the door and knocked solidly three times.

 

They eventually heard movement coming from within, including the cries of what sounded like a baby.  The door opened to reveal a short woman with dish-water blonde hair pulled up into a bun and holding a fussy infant on her hip.  The woman’s eyes were red-rimmed, and she looked haggard.

 

“Hello, Celeste,” greeted Evie. “Is Claude home?”

 

Suddenly, the woman’s eyes went wide with recognition.

 

“You!” she screamed. “How dare you come here?  This is all your fault!”

 

The heads of the few merchants setting up their stalls in the fish market all turned towards the hysterical woman.  Geralt quickly looked back behind him and then cast an Axii at the woman.

 

“Calm down, and invite us inside,” he ordered.

 

Suddenly, her angry face went slack.

 

“Please, do come in,” she said in a monotone.

 

oOo

 

Outside the Debussy home, on the opposite side of the fish market, a soldier sat in the shadows, disguised as a vagrant, doing his best not to doze off. A woman screaming somewhere nearby startled him awake, and when he finally came to, he noticed a couple entering the archeologist’s home.  Suddenly, he was wide awake, and he jabbed an elbow into the ribs of the man sleeping next to him. 

 

            “Wake up, Hans,” he hissed. “Alert the captain. A woman just showed up.”

 

oOo

 

 

            Geralt immediately pushed Evie inside and shut the door behind him. The first thing he noticed were stairs off to his right. 

 

            “Who else is here?” he asked.

 

            “Jordy is upstairs, still asleep.”

 

            The witcher nodded. “Let’s have a seat. We gotta talk.”

 

            He moved them all to a nearby wooden table with chairs.  Like the rest of the furniture and cookware in the first-floor kitchen/dining area, the table and chairs looked old and worn. Despite that, the entire place looked clean and well-tended. 

 

            Geralt cast an Axii at the crying baby and then turned his eyes to Celeste.

 

            “You said something about this being Evie’s fault. What do you mean?”

 

            “Radovid’s men came and asked Claude about her.”

 

            “When was this?”

 

            “A couple of days ago.”

 

            “What did they ask?”

 

            “Questions about her. When he’d seen her last. If she’d written him.”

 

            Geralt knew, based on her reaction at the door, that there was more to the story.

 

            “What happened to Claude?”

 

            “They took him. He told them that he hadn’t seen her in years. Hadn’t heard from her in years, but I guess they didn’t believe him.  They confiscated all of his books and papers, and they put in him manacles and took him away.”

 

            Geralt heard Evie exhale deeply. When he looked over, he saw that she was shaking her head back and forth.  Guilt was clearly on her face.

 

            “Do you know where they took him?” asked the witcher.

 

            “I don’t know for sure. They didn’t say. But, after they left, I took Jordy and Oleera next to door to Mrs. Jenks, and then I followed them.  It wasn’t hard, at least until they got to the gate.  I didn’t dare follow them beyond that.”

 

            “Where do you think they were heading?”

 

            “Tretogor. When I was following them, I overhead them say something about Tretogor.”

 

            After a moment of silence, Evie turned to Geralt. There was both desperation and panic in her eyes.

 

            “They took Claude…because of me. Geralt, this doesn’t make any sense.  How is Radovid getting his information?  His men were waiting for us in the mountains. Then, they somehow knew about Claude.  I don’t understand.”

 

            Before he answered, he cast another Axii at Celeste and then told her to go upstairs. He then looked at his wife.

 

            “Who knows you best, Evie?  Who would know that you might turn to Claude if you needed help?”

 

            “Maybe…my friends from my time at the Academy…or my family.  Are you saying one of them would betray me? That they’re working for Radovid?”

 

            “I’m not saying that.  They may not even realize that they’re giving out information about you.  If I was trying to understand best how you think, I’d seek out your family and friends.  Cozy up to them in a tavern. Start swapping life stories.  Build a relationship with them. Maybe one of his spies is tight with one of your friends or family members and they’re not even aware.”

 

            “Well, my only two, living family members that aren’t already with us are my brother Abelard and Uncle Malek.”

 

            “When did you last see Abelard?”

 

            She shook her head. “Four years ago, maybe? Several years before I took the tome, for sure.” 

 

            Now, Geralt was shaking his head.

 

            “What is it?” she asked.

 

            “The timing on all of this.  It’s too coincidental.  Even if Radovid’s spies are using information from Abelard or one of your friends, it’s too much of coincidence that they grabbed Claude just days before we got here. Think about it, you stole the tome two years ago.  Why would Radovid wait until _now_ to come question Claude?”

 

            “I don’t know. Maybe he – his spies – just found out about me and the tome recently.”

 

            “Yeah, maybe.  Well, we’re not going to-”

           

            Their conversation was suddenly interrupted by the front door slowly opening. Standing in the doorway, backlit by the morning sunlight, was a giant-sized man. Even though he wasn’t wearing his typical black armor, Evie recognized him immediately, her eyes growing wide.  Geralt already had his sword out before the man had even taken a step into the room. After slowly shutting the door behind him, the man’s ice-blue eyes took in his surroundings and then, finally, stopped on Evie.

 

            “Hello, Evangeline.  It’s been many years,” said Malek.  “We have much to discuss.”

 


	14. Chapter 14

            Timataal stood frustrated at one of the fish market’s stands, pretending to be interested in the merchant’s wares. Out of the corner of his eye, he watched Malek walk into the Debussy house all alone.  The rest of Malek’s men – and Fringilla – were scattered about the fish market doing their best to blend in and look inconspicuous.  It had taken them several days to locate the residence of Evie’s ex-husband, and they’d been keeping it under surveillance ever since.

 

Despite Timataal’s protestations, Malek had insisted on speaking to his niece privately.

 

            “It won’t be private,” Timataal had argued. “He’s in there with her. You’re good, Mal, but you’re no witcher.”   

 

            “Thank you for the vote of confidence. Nevertheless...I need to speak with her alone.”

 

            The shorter man slowly shook his head. “Alright. It’s your funeral.  I got dibs on your horse.”

 

            Malek smiled. “Right. I’d love to see you try to mount him. My stirrups come up to your chin.”

 

             Timataal shook his head again but now had a smirk on his face. “Don’t die, asshole.”

 

oOo

 

            Malek stood – empty handed - on the opposite side of the small, dining table from Geralt and Evie.  The witcher had taken a step to his left, most of his body now in front of his wife’s. And though he appeared at ease, standing unnaturally still and casually holding his steel sword down at his side, Malek was not fooled. The monster-slayer’s eyes were boring into his, anticipating the first movement of danger. Malek knew that he’d have to tread carefully if he wanted a peaceful parley.  After he had finally taken the mutant’s full measure, he shifted his eyes from Geralt. He looked over the witcher’s shoulder to address his niece.

 

“You look well, Evangeline.  It’s good to see you safe.”

 

“As you, Uncle. How’d you know I was coming here, to Claude’s?”

 

            Malek shrugged. “A little bit of luck. A bit of an educated guess. Does it really matter?”

 

            “Yes, actually it does, but I suppose that’s all you’re going to say about it, right?”

 

Malek answered with a single nod of the head.

 

“So…then, why are you are here _exactly_? To take me back?”

 

            “Would you believe me if I said no?”

 

            She shook her head. “No, I wouldn’t.”

 

            Malek squinted his eyes at the historian.

 

“You know…I have _never_ done anything to you for you to mistrust me. Nevertheless…regardless of your suspicions, I’m here for the book that you stole. Nothing else.”

 

            Evie laughed. “So, I give you the book, and you just let us go?”

 

            “Yes.  I’ll tell Emhyr that you both died in a skirmish.  You’d, of course, have to leave the Continent, never to return, but you’d live.”

 

            “I have a hard time believing you’d flat-out lie to the Emperor. You’re Emhyr’s man, through and through.”

 

            “Evangeline, doubt me if you want, but I mean you no harm.  I swear on your mother’s memory…I have no desire to see you hurt in any way.” 

 

A strange looked crossed Evie’s face.

 

            “If you mean me no harm, then why did you ever involve me in this in the first place? You _personally_ came to my home and asked me to the capital to study the book.”

           

            “I asked you to come because I wanted to see you. We are…family.” Then, Malek smiled.  “Of course, had I known you were going to _steal_ the book, trust me, I never would have bothered. But, I shouldn’t be surprised.  You always were impetuous…and stubborn…just like your mother. Regardless, you must give me the book if I am going to protect you.”

             

            Evie furrowed her brow at Malek’s second mention of her mother.

 

“Thank you for your concern, but I’ve got all the protection I need.  This is Geralt…my husband.”

 

            A look of surprise flashed across Malek’s face, but he quickly composed himself.

 

“My congratulations to you both. I _truly_ wish you happiness. And all the more reason to now simply hand the book over…and then go on an extended honeymoon…far away.”

 

            The witcher caught himself slightly nodding his head. While Geralt was very wary of the large man and didn’t trust a word coming from his mouth, he had to admit that he did actually agree with the man’s last idea.

 

“Why does Emhyr even want it?” Evie asked. “It’s just full of Aen Seidhe myths and fairy tales.”

 

            The small smile returned to Malek’s face. “Nice try, but we both know why the book is important and why he wants it. You wouldn’t have stolen it, otherwise.”

 

            Evie shook her head, disappointment and confusion clearly on her face.

 

“I don’t understand you, Uncle Malek.  I’ve always looked up to you. Partly because I thought you always hated bullies.  So, how can you serve Emhyr? He’s the biggest bully of all. He’s nothing but a war-monger. He’s invaded the North twice – _unprovoked_ \- in the last decade.”

 

            “I don’t serve Emhyr, Evangeline. I serve order.”

 

            Her brow furrowed. “You serve _order_? What the hell does that even mean? You are part of the Emperor’s war-machine. And war is not order. You serve _chaos_ and _death_. You know he won’t be happy until the entire Continent is under his thumb.”

 

            “It’s true that he and I both want the North under Nilfgaardian rule, but our motivations are _quite_ different.  For him it is about power, for me it is about peace.”

 

            “Peace? You support the invasion of the North because you want _peace_? That’s the dumbest thing I’ve ever heard.”

 

            “You’re a student of history, Evangeline. So, tell me…how many of the duchies and provinces under Nilfgaardian rule have revolted in the last…thirty years?”

 

            “None.”

 

            “And why do you think that is?”

 

            “Easy. Fear. One word about independence and they’d by crushed under Emhyr’s black boot.”

 

            Malek shook his head.

 

“No, Evangeline. They don’t revolt because they have no need or want to.  Being a part of our Empire brings peace to their lands. But we bring more than that.  We bring prosperity.  Sure, there may be some ‘patriots’ who refuse to be happy living under any flag but their own, but most people? Most people couldn’t care less who actually sits on the throne and rules. They just want live in a land of law and order, where they feel safe in their homes, where jobs can be found, where food is plenty, where their kin aren’t beaten and murdered, their women aren’t raped.  And the Empire, while not perfect, offers that better than _any other realm_. You want me to believe that the North was a _peaceful_ land and that our invasion somehow destroyed that?  That’s a fallacy, and you know it. Kaedwen and Aedirn have been at war for centuries.  Temeria just went through a civil war.  And the less said of Radovid’s atrocities the better. The Northern kings have killed ten times the number of Nordlings than Nilfgaard ever has. The North is a land where anarchy reigns, and we can bring it much needed order. We can give the citizens – this entire continent - peace and stability.”

 

            “Well, silly me. I didn’t realize just how altruistic your invasion actually was. Who knew that you and Emhyr have the Nordlings’ best interest at heart? Good luck getting them to believe that.”

 

            “You mock, but we won’t have to _make_ them believe it. They’ll see it for themselves when they’re finally living in peace under our rule.  You obviously don’t agree with this war, but order doesn’t just happen.  It’s the way of both man and nature to devolve into chaos.  Gardens, unattended, don’t stay pretty.  They grow wild, quickly overrun with weeds and snakes and all types of pests that’ll devour all.  So, order is costly…and sometimes painful.  You have to pull weeds and kill all of the vermin in order for the flowers to bloom. And, to me, that’s what this war is…us pulling weeds…which brings us back to the book.  If it can lead us to a weapon that will allow us to end this war sooner, that will, ultimately, permit more lives to be saved in the long run, then wouldn’t you want us to have it?”

 

            When Evie didn’t say anything, Malek continued. “It’s better in my hands than Radovid’s, right?  Because he’s now after you and the book, too. You are aware of that, correct?”

 

            “Yes, we’re aware. How is it that you are?”

 

            “I just know.”

 

            “Right…you have eyes and ears everywhere.”

 

            Malek shifted his focus to Geralt.

 

            “Witcher, perhaps you can help Evangeline see reason.”

 

            The White Wolf stood still and silent for several moments, just staring at the southerner.

 

“I think you missed your calling, Malek,” Geralt finally responded. “You should have been a politician or maybe even clergy.  Very persuasive little speech, and such a poetic analogy. You almost had me convinced, except for one problem…you seem to think that _you’re_ the gardener.  That _you_ have the right to decide what should stay and what should go. But, as far as I’m concerned, Emhyr…Nilfgaard…you…you’re just another one of the weeds.”

 

Malek sighed. “I’m disappointed that’s your view, Witcher. I had heard that you were…a practical sort.”

 

“That so?”

 

“Yes. I know that you, too, have even worked – if not for – then, at least, _with_ Emhyr when it suited your own aims.  Just last year you fought _alongside_ Nilfgaardians to defeat the Wild Hunt. Isn’t that right?”

 

“What of it?”

 

“Just that, perhaps, you and I aren’t so different. We’re both willing to partner with those we may find… _undesirable_ for a greater cause.”

 

The witcher shook his head. “You and I are _nothing_ alike. I was simply trying to save my daughter…and I would have done so with or without Emhyr’s help. I _never_ partnered with him.”

 

“And I am simply trying to save the citizens of this continent from tyranny. And regardless of how you want to label it, just as I am using his resources for my aims, you _did_ use his spies’ intelligence and his naval and armed forces against the Wild Hunt to save your daughter. I think it just galls you that you had to.”

 

Geralt eventually nodded. “Fair enough…but there’s one big difference between you and me. I let people make their own choices. Your supreme leader ordered me to bring Ciri to him once I found her, but I refused. I let _her_ decide what she wanted to do.  But, here you are, trying to force your own niece to do something against her will.  Just like you’re forcing the Nordlings to submit to Nilfgaardian rule against their will.   _That’s_ the definition of tyranny. Good luck rationalizing that one away, bootlicker.”

 

Malek sighed and turned to Evie. “I can see why you married him.”

 

“I trust _him_ with my life, which is more than I can say for you.”

 

A look of sadness crossed Malek’s face.

 

“I shall wait outside…with my men.  I’ll give you ten minutes. Please make the reasonable choice.”

           

            Suddenly, Geralt cast an Axii Sign at Malek, and the large man’s eyes glazed over.

 

            “Yeah…well, here’s my choice. I’m just going to kill you and be done with it,” said the witcher as he started toward Malek.

 

            “Geralt, no!” Evie reached out quickly and grabbed the witcher’s arm.  “I may not agree with him, but he’s still family, and I… I still love him. Please don’t kill him.”

 

            “Evie, he’s _not_ going to let this go,” said Geralt, not even bothering to hide the frustration in his voice. “Any more than Emhyr will.  So, we either give him the book or we kill him. Those are the two choices. Well, three choices…we could just destroy the damn book so that no one can have it. But what we _can’t_ do is keep the book _and_ let him go free.”

 

            “Witcher!” A voice came from out in the fish market.

 

            Evie and Geralt quickly swiveled their heads towards the front door and then carefully approached a front window of the house.

 

            Looking out into the market, the White Wolf sighed deeply.

 

“Son of a bitch. This has to be the most _well-known_ , covert mission ever. Did someone send out invitations?”

 

oOo

 

            Fringilla Vigo stood on the other side of the fish market from the Debussy house. In the last twenty minutes, her mind had been consumed by a whirlwind of thoughts. She wanted to believe that she felt nothing – neither affection nor hate – for the white-haired witcher, but if that was the case, then why did her heart start racing upon seeing him again.  And she wasn’t even going to attempt to label the emotion she felt when he and the historian kissed on the doorstep.  And as if that weren’t enough, Malek had entered the house alone. She knew that, for the good of the Empire, she should hope that the witcher struck down Malek and escaped. But, what she knew and what she felt suddenly seemed to be at odds with one another.

 

            _“Damn it all to hell,”_ she thought, shaking her head. _“Why can’t I just be like the rest of the sorceresses of the Lodge and like every man walking the planet? They have no issues whatsoever sleeping with people and not forming any kind of emotional attachments. What is wrong with me?  I am obviously not cut out for this type of spying.”_

The sorceress was suddenly brought out of her thoughts by the sight and sounds of dozens and dozens of red and silver clad soldiers rushing into the fish market from all avenues.  Within just a few minutes, there seemed to be at least a hundred or more armed-men facing and surrounding the Debussy house. Men with large shields knelt side by side along the front. Just behind them, soldiers thrust their long spears over the top of the shields, and in a third row, stood archers with bows and crossbows at the ready.

 

            Behind them all, stood a man in gleaming armor, his blood-red cape billowing slightly in the morning breeze.

 

            “Witcher!” the officer-in-charge yelled. “You are surrounded! You and the woman come out – unarmed, or we will come in for you!”

 

oOo

 

            “There’s gotta be an entire company of men out there,” growled the witcher. “Even I can’t defeat that many.”

 

Geralt grabbed Malek by the back of the collar and drug him towards the window.

 

            “Is this your doing?”

 

            “Of course not,” answered Malek, no longer under the effect of the Axii. “I don’t want Radovid to get the book. Nor, would I ever put Evangeline in danger.”

 

            “Then help me think of something because right now we are buggered,” replied the witcher before he turned and started quickly piling the little bit of furniture that was available toward the front door. He then began scanning the floor.

 

            “What are you looking for?” asked Evie, her voice high and trembling.

 

            “A latch. Some of these houses have cellars connected to the sewers.”

 

            “Do you see anything?”

 

            He shook his head and looked into Evie’s eyes.

 

“Nothing.” 

 

Then, he turned and ran up the stairs.  

 

            “Witcher! This is your last chance! You and the woman have one minute to surrender!”

 

            Evie watched Geralt disappear up the stairs and then turned towards Malek.

 

            “What do we do?”

 

oOo

 

            Timataal, Fringilla, and the rest of Malek’s men had quickly fled the market upon the Redanian soldiers’ arrival. Easily blending in with the large crowd of Novigrad citizens that were now gathered, they huddled together near the bridge than spanned the canal.  Both questions and rumors went up and down the ranks of the citizenry as to just what was transpiring.

 

            “Any ideas – that won’t get us all killed?” asked Timataal in a hushed tone, eyeing his men.

 

            All the Nilfgaardians peered at one another before finally turning back to Timataal.  No one said anything, just shaking their heads.

 

            “What about you?” he asked Fringilla.

 

All eyes were on the sorceress.

 

oOo

 

_Novigrad Harbor_

            “Nilfgaardians!”

 

            “Black Ones!”

 

            The shouts were going up and down the docks of Novigrad as the three large ships, with giant black sails, emblazoned with a golden sun, appeared through the morning mist.

 

            Emperor Emhyr stood on the deck of the middle ship, with his back to the shore, and looked at the five monstrous creatures in front of him.  As he craned his neck to look upward into their lifeless eyes, he held the two magical discs in his hands. He lowered his eyes to the metal objects, breathed in deeply, and pressed them together.  He twisted them, until he heard a click. Suddenly, he heard a low humming noise around him, and the hair on his arms stood on end as the air crackled with energy. He looked up, and as he saw the creatures coming to life, he could feel the magical power radiating off of them.  He quickly moved behind the magical constructs and then glanced over to the other ships to see that the monsters there were also active.

 

            He remembered Philippa’s instructions regarding giving simple orders.  He brought the discs up to his mouth and spoke.

 

            “Go forth, and destroy all.”

 

            Immediately, the five monsters on his ship disappeared with a powerful whooshing sound.  His eyes scanned the shoreline back and forth. Suddenly, the creatures appeared a hundred feet in the air and, like meteors, rained down towards the city below. Even standing on his ship well off-shore, he could feel the vibrations as the monsters crashed down into the docks, warehouses, and streets of Novigrad.  As he watched one of the monsters belch forth a massive flame of fire and set the walls of a warehouse ablaze, for the first time in weeks, a genuine smile crossed the Emperor’s face. That is, until her heard frantic shouts coming from the ship on his starboard side. He looked over and saw that there was one creature still aboard that ship, which was being quickly engulfed in flames. 

 

Emhyr brought the disc up to his mouth again and shouted, “Attack the city! Attack the city!”

 

His orders weren’t understood by the lone monster or else they simply weren’t obeyed because the creature continued to breathe fire across the ship’s sails and wooden deck. It then charged ahead into the forward mast and began pounding away at it with heavy fists.  He watched as the sailors on the ship jumped overboard and began swimming for safety.  As the ship began to sink, the monster disappeared.  Emhyr’s eyes went wide, looking up in the sky directly above him.   He was waiting with dread for the monster to crash down onto the deck of his own ship and start wreaking havoc, but of the corner of his eye, he noticed the creature suddenly appear in the Novigrad warehouse district, and he exhaled deeply.

 

The Emperor then shouted at the ship’s captain. “Get us to safety! Now!”

           

oOo

 

            Evie shrieked and jumped backward from a bright flash and loud bang. Fringilla stepped out of a portal, and it immediately vanished behind her.  Her eyes quickly found Malek.

 

            “Malek, we need to go, now.”

 

She waved her arms about with a quick chant, and suddenly a new portal appeared in the small room.   

 

            “Evangeline, come with us. Please.” Malek’s eyes pierced Evie’s.

 

            “Not without Geralt.”

 

Her stare was just as fierce. She was thankful that she was across the room from her uncle, near the stairs, just in case he made a move for her.

 

            Malek’s jaws clenched.

 

“Witcher! Let’s go. We have a portal!” yelled Malek upward, toward the second floor. 

 

            Almost immediately, Geralt descended the stairs with a small boy in his arms and Celeste, holding her baby, right behind him. Without a word, he handed the boy to Fringilla and then pushed Celeste through the portal. 

 

            “Come on, Malek. I can only keep it open a few more seconds,” urged Fringilla right before turning and entering the portal herself.

 

            “I’m not going without you, Evangeline,” Malek stated, while staring into her eyes.

 

            “Like hell,” growled the witcher, who quickly signed an Aard in Malek’s direction and blasted him through the portal just before it closed.

 

            Evie quickly turned to her husband.

 

“I hope you have a plan,” she said, now biting her lower lip.

 

            Suddenly, Geralt raised his head and starting looking around with wide eyes.

 

            “Do you hear that?” he asked as he ran to the front window.

 

oOo

 

            Outside, in the middle of the fish market, the eyes of everyone – including the Redanian soldiers – began shifting towards the docks.  Along with plumes of smoke, screams of fear and agony were coming from that direction.  Suddenly, falling from the sky, a giant creature landed right in the middle of the Redanian formation. Several soldiers were literally crushed into the dirt while dozens of others were flung through the air by the impact. Immediately, chaos ensued within the fish market as citizens and soldiers alike fled in all directions, accompanied by shouts of terror. 

 

            The creature breathed out flames and several merchant’s stands and fleeing soldiers caught fire.  The monster quickly rushed forward and grabbed a burning body in each hand. He forcefully threw one to the ground, shattering virtually every bone and internal organ, killing the man instantly.  The creature violently tossed the other flaming corpse to the side, towards a building, just before rampaging towards the mass of humanity that was trying to escape. 

 

oOo

 

            “Duck!” yelled Geralt, and he immediately pushed Evie to the floor, protecting her with both his body and a Quen dome an instant before a burning corpse smashed into the front window. 

 

            “What the hell is that thing?” shouted Evie.

 

            Geralt peeked his head back up towards the window.  The creature was still in the market, now breathing fire at the businesses and homes on the other side.  The witcher had never seen anything exactly like it.  It looked like a cross between several different magical constructs that he’d come across while on the Path.  It had the shape of a gargoyle, including the wings on its back, but the composition of the body looked like that of a golem.  Though, at twelve feet tall, it was bigger than any gargoyle or golem he’d ever seen.  Nor, had he ever known either of those constructs to have the ability to breathe fire. So, it apparently had some attributes of a fire elemental, too. Whatever it was exactly, it was clearly magical.  He knew that something like that could never be birthed or hatched.

 

            “It’s trouble,” he answered as he ducked back down below the window and grabbed Evie’s hand. “Upstairs.”

 

            Geralt quickly led Evie up the stairs to the second floor, and upon arriving there, they immediately noticed smoke and flames billowing out of the wooden walls facing the fish market. 

 

            “Damn it! Give me one second,” said the witcher as he threw Evie’s cloak open and started unbuckling his silver sword from her.  Less than a minute later, he dropped his cloak to the floor and had both swords on his back.

 

They moved to a window on the backside of the house and could see the Golden Sturgeon tavern across the road. It, too, was already in flames.  The witcher peered down into the road below, and upon seeing it clear, he cast at Aard and blew out the window panes.  He unsheathed his steel sword and knocked out the jagged shards that were still embedded in their grooves.  He re-sheathed his sword, grabbed the window ledge and jumped out the window while still hanging on.  He looked down to the ground below to see that his boots were about ten feet above the road. He kicked off the side of stone wall and twisted his body a quarter of a turn. As his feet hit the ground, he bent his knees and rolled forward.  He was quickly up and back below the window. He saw Evie poking her head out. 

 

            “Evie, jump! I’ll catch you!” he yelled up at her, his arms out if front of him, palms up.

 

            She looked down at the witcher and shook her head back and forth before exhaling deeply.  And then she leapt.  A second after he caught her safely in his arms, the ground behind them shook as another one of the monsters charged down the road towards them.  Geralt saw the creature stop and take in a deep breath.

 

            “Get down!” he yelled to Evie, as he covered her body with his own while simultaneously casting a Quen dome around them both.  Flames of fire completely enveloped them but the shield held on for just long enough.  As soon as the flames ceased, the witcher cancelled the Quen dome and tossed a dimeritium bomb at the monster.  Just as the bomb exploded against the creature’s chest, Geralt and Evie were up and sprinting towards Hierarch Square.  The witcher wasn’t sure how effective the dimeritium would be in interfering with the strange monster’s magic, but he just needed for it to be long enough so that the two could make their escape.

 

            Geralt and Evie ran into the main square and found nothing but pandemonium. A monster was standing at the southeast corner of the square, breathing fire and tossing people about like rag dolls.  Novigradians were running in every direction, most screaming at the top of their lungs.

 

Seeing that the half-gargoyle, half-golem was blocking the eastern exit of the square, Geralt quickly turned to Evie.

 

“We’ll head to the northern exit,” he yelled as he pointed to the opposite side of the square. “If we get separated, run that way.”

 

Keeping to the western side of the square, he navigated his way through the people running in his direction with his left hand, his right hand grasping firmly to Evie’s.  He led them along the edge of the square, staying underneath a protective overhang.  They came to the local bookstore at the northeast corner of the plaza and hid behind a stone column. It was then that the magical creature charged to the center of the square, snatching a fleeing citizen in each hand.  He slammed both bodies to the ground and then breathed out fire on both of them.  Geralt poked his head around the corner of the bookstore and looked north towards Dijkstra’s bathhouse.  He cursed as he saw another monster that way, causing total destruction of the buildings and people around it.  He and Evie were starting to run out of options.  He swiveled his head back to his right, and a nearby, three-story building caught his eye.

 

“Let’s go!” urged the witcher.

 

The two of them rushed out from behind the stone column and began running for the steps of The Kingfisher Inn.  The witcher’s eyes stayed on the gargolem the entire time. Just as he and Evie made it to bottom of the steps leading up to the tavern’s front door, the monster noticed them, let out a loud roar, and charged in their direction.

 

“Go! Go!” yelled the monster-slayer, as he pushed Evie up the stairs.

 

He knew that he didn’t have another dimeritium bomb on his bandolier, so he immediately grabbed a Northern Wind and backhand tossed it at the rampaging monster. The bomb exploded and froze the gargolem just a few feet from the front edge of the stairs. It stopped the monster just long enough for Evie to make her way through the open door of the inn. As Geralt turned his back on the gargolem and continued up the steps, he signed a Quen - which definitely saved his life, for just a moment later, the monster swung a massive fist forward, smashing into the witcher’s back and slamming him into the front, stone wall of the tavern.  The heavy blow shattered the Quen shield, which knocked the gargolem backward and momentarily disoriented it, as well.  Geralt tried scrambling to his feet, but the monster’s punch had left him a bit groggy. Evie looked back to see him stumbling through the door.  She ran back towards him as she heard the monster bellow loudly again.  She pulled her husband across the threshold and slammed the door shut just as the gargolem breathed out heavy flames. 

 

As the front door of the inn caught fire and burned behind them, the witcher shook his head slightly - as if to gather his bearings - and then looked at his wife.

 

“Thanks…come on.”

 

He hurriedly led Evie around the long, wooden tables of the tavern to a doorway just left of the stage.  He grabbed the handle, only to find that the door was locked.  Suddenly, the front wall of the Kingfisher exploded as the gargolem smashed its way into the interior.  Geralt instantly turned back towards the locked door and kicked it open.  He immediately saw that someone had come up with the same idea as him since the hidden passage down to the sewers was already open.  The monster shattered tables and chairs as it charged towards its prey. Geralt grabbed Evie and pulled her down the steps to safety just as the gargolem smashed its way into the small room, stone and mortar flying through the air. 

 

As the two of them ran across the large, basement storeroom, the witcher grabbed a torch out of a wall sconce and lit it with Igni.  After handing her the torch, he then led her over to a grate that led into the sewers.

 

            “I know you don’t want to go through the sewers again,” he said to his wife, “but… better down here than up there.”

 

            Just then, they heard another roar from the gargolem and the ground above them shook, dust and dirt falling down into their hair.

 

            Her eyes jumped upward and then quickly back down to Geralt’s.

 

“Agreed. I’ll be right behind you.”

 

oOo

 

            Lydial, Benny, and the rest were all standing, with their mouths agape.  They had been hiding in the woods east of town near the crematorium, but now, they were out in an open clearing, watching as the city of Novigrad went up in flames. Black smoke filled the morning sky, and hundreds of residents, soldiers, and temple guards were fleeing the city through the nearby Oxenfurt Gate. 

 

            “You think this is because of Geralt?” asked Barcain

 

            “Can’t be,” answered Lydial. “Even he can’t do this much damage, right?”

 

            “You obviously haven’t known him for very long,” replied Roche.

 

            “What should we do?” asked Ves.

 

            “Well, what we _don’t_ do is go charging in, Ves. We stick with the plan and wait for them here,” said Roche. “At least, for a bit more. The chances of us finding them in that mayhem is next to nothing.”

 

            The look on Ves’ face made it clear she didn’t agree, but Roche was used to that.  What he wasn’t accustomed to was seeing someone on their knees praying, as Lydial was now doing, but he nodded his head.

 

            “Yeah…praying to the gods wouldn’t hurt, either.”

 

oOo

 

            “Open up another portal, _right now_ ,” ordered Malek, glaring at Fringilla.

 

            “No,” she answered calmly.  “Entering that city is suicide. If you want to kill yourself, fine, but you won’t get my help.” 

 

Finally, events were going the sorceress’ way – Malek was safe, but he was also without the book, and she wasn’t about to do anything to jeopardize either outcome.  

 

            While the two of them were standing outside of the Seven Cats Inn arguing, Celeste stood gawking at the destruction of Novigrad.  Like their mother, her children were both in tears, her son hugging her leg while she held the baby close to her shoulder.

 

            “I’m not going to sit here doing nothing while my men die in that inferno.”

 

            “They should be here shortly,” responded Fringilla. “I told them to ride this way before I even cast the first portal.”

 

            That news seemed to placate Malek, and he then turned back to gaze at the burning city.

 

            “Evangeline,” he whispered.

 

oOo

 

_Tretogor_

 

            Radovid the Stern, current King of Redania, had many flaws, but an inability to see the big picture was not one of them.  It was what had allowed him to always be one step of ahead of Emperor Emhyr and the Nilfgaardian generals’ plans for invasion. His use of Redania’s scientists and engineers to counteract the enemy’s use of magic had been absolutely revolutionary.  However, he was still a bit confused by the Black Ones’ apparent retreat from along the southern shores of the Pontar River.  He didn’t believe for a second that they were simply packing up and heading home. Unfortunately, the scouts that he had ordered to cross the river to find the now-missing Nilfgaardian forces had never returned. That was, in fact, the third scouting party that had not returned in the last week, which was making the king quite irritable and very paranoid.

 

            At the moment, he stood in the middle of the war room in his palace.  As was his custom, he stared intently at an enormous, topographical map of the northern part of the Continent that was laid out on top of a banquet-sized table. Small wooden figures – like chess pieces representing both his and the enemy forces – were positioned at various locations on the map.  His eyes scanned back and forth over the map, searching for areas of vulnerability, where Emhyr just might be tempted to attack.  The majority of his troops were along the entire length of the Pontar River, but he had also amassed some near the western coast, as well, particularly in the city of Novigrad.  A week ago, after receiving the news of Nilfgaard’s retreat, he had pulled a thousand of his troops along the Pontar back towards Tretogor.  He hated to admit that he still wasn’t sure what Emhyr was planning, but he wanted to be able to deploy those thousand men quickly wherever they were needed to reinforce his lines.

 

            King Radovid was brought out of his thoughts by a frantic voice emanating from near his hand.  

 

            “….…attacked…are burn…we ne-…” The words were being drowned out by yelling and screaming.

 

            The garbled sound was coming from a metal, circular-shaped box that could fit in the Redanian ruler’s palm.  Keira Metz had approached Radovid over a year ago, hoping to ingratiate herself with the king.  She had mistakenly believed that the Redanian monarch gave a fig about a potential cure for a deadly disease.  However, he had been intrigued when she mentioned the unique capabilities of small box, which she called a Xenovox.  He had immediately seen the incredible, military advantages that the box could offer, for in war, many times, accurate and timely information was the difference between victory and defeat.   Once his engineers inspected the communication device and assured Radovid that they could recreate it – and once he was confident the sorceress held no other valuable knowledge – he’d ordered her execution.  It was through this box that he had spoken to Captain Krill, commander of his Novigrad garrison, less than an hour before. Krill had informed him that the Nilfgaardian historian had been seen in the city’s fish market. 

 

            “Krill, repeat yourself! Captain!” ordered Radovid after pressing a small button on the device. He then released the button and listened.

 

            Suddenly, the king’s eyes widened as he heard a man’s agonizing scream followed by a monstrous roar - and then silence. Radovid held the box in front at his face, staring at for several long moments, but no other sounds came.  He slowly walked to a nearby desk where more than a dozen other Xenovoxes were resting in labeled cubby holes, and he placed the box in his hand in the appropriate, empty spot. 

 

            He stood there in thought for a moment before grabbing another Xenovox from a cubby hole labeled, “Slevin.” 

 

            “General Slevin, prepare the men for an invasion from Novigrad.”

 

oOo

 

            Malek scanned the horizon around him.  It was absolute chaos.  Hundreds, if not thousands, were still fleeing Novigrad, and a scene from his youth flashed through his mind. When he’d been a teenager, the river near his home had flooded. As the water had risen and entered many of the towns’ houses and barns, he remembered watching hundreds of rats in the town scattering for higher, dryer, safer ground. That’s what Novigrad looked like now, he thought. Everyone fleeing the city had the same frenzied look about them. A few stopped once they reached the Seven Cats and turned to watch the carnage, but most kept heading east. Though, by that point, exhaustion had taken hold, and they were no longer running for safety. They simply shuffled along while continuously looking back over their shoulders. 

 

“Where will you go?” Malek asked, looking down from his mount at Celeste and her two children.  Timataal and the rest of Malek’s men had finally arrived at the Seven Cats Inn and had brought his horse with them.

 

            The tears were no longer flowing from Celeste’s or her children’s eyes.  It seemed that they were all just numb at that point.

 

            She slowly shook her head.

 

            “We’ve…we’ve got some friends in Oxenfurt. Maybe they can put us up for a bit. Of course, if those things head that direction, then…I don’t know.”

 

            Malek reached into a pocket, and, after scanning his eyes around him, leaned down and slipped a small bag of coin into the woman’s hand. 

 

            “Hide it well,” he stated, looking hard into her eyes. “These are desperate, dangerous times.”

 

            She stared back and then nodded her head slowly.

 

            “We’d escort you, but Oxenfurt is not our destination.”

 

            Celeste just nodded her head again, gathered up her children, and then began her journey east.

 

            Malek turned back to the city. It appeared to him that every building was aflame. Occasionally, he would catch a glimpse of one of the creatures materializing high above the city before dropping down into a new neighborhood to wreak more havoc.  Even at that distance, he recognized the magical creatures from the basement of the Vizima palace.  He had warned the Emperor.  Warned him against ever getting involved with Philippa Eilhart in any way.   

 

            Malek shook his head and whispered to himself.

 

“Emhyr, you fool…look at what you’ve let loose.”

 

oOo

 

            Geralt and Evie ran through the trees east of Novigrad and found their friends, more or less, where they’d left them. Lydial rushed towards them and hugged them both. 

 

            “What the hell is happening in there?” asked Roche.

 

            “I’ll tell you on the way. We need to ride,” answered Geralt, already heading towards their horses.

 

            “Where to?” asked Barcain.

 

            “Tretogor.  We think Radovid’s holding Claude prisoner. If so, we gotta break him out.”

 

            “Fantastic,” replied Benny with a sigh.

 

oOo

 

_Ostrynos Peninsula, Redania_

            Emhyr didn’t know it, but so far, his plans were working to perfection. As the free city of Novigrad was burning to the ground, thousands of Nilfgaardian troops set foot on Redanian soil more than a hundred miles to the north.  Halfway between Blaviken and Roggeveen, a piece of landed jutted out westward, like a point, into the ocean. This area, known as the Ostrynos Peninsula, formed the southern edge of the Gulf of Praxeda and contained gradually-sloping, sandy beaches. It was an ideal place for an amphibious assault.

 

Along with the many, terrifying tales of flying, fire-breathing monsters, there were also enough eye-witnesses who confirmed seeing Nilfgaardian troop ships in the Novigrad harbor that King Radovid had to take seriously the threat of invasion on his southwestern border.   Therefore, he had begun repositioning many of his units towards the free city, leaving a much smaller force defending the shores of the peninsula.  The Black Ones rolled through the meager Redanian defense and began marching with purpose towards the southeast. Their destination was Tretogor, residence of Radovid.  Emhyr believed in the maxim, “Cut off the head and the body will die.” He was confident that if he could kill the king, then the Redanian generals would sue for peace. There was no plan B.


	15. Chapter 15

A/N (March 2018):

After writing Chapter 14, I got hit with a severe case of writer’s block for several months.  I want to thank everyone who contacted me during that time to offer encouragement. Your kind words helped me to fight through it.  I am very grateful to you.  FYI: I have finished the rest of the chapters for this book and will have them all posted within the next week. They just need some final polishing. I hope you enjoy the rest of the journey.

 

oOo

_Tretogor, Redania_

 

            “So, what’s on your mind?” asked Timataal in a low voice.

 

            “Who said I was here to talk?” Malek whispered back. “Maybe I just came to relieve you.”

 

            Timataal never shifted his eyes from his surroundings, but a smirk did break across his face. He wasn’t fooled. He knew he wasn’t supposed to be relieved for several more hours. Malek had showed up for some other reason.

 

            The two men were hunkered down in the shadows of a narrow alley that ran on the backside of a butcher’s shop that sold mystery meat.  Timataal guessed it was mostly rat – perhaps small dogs or cats.  As it was already past sundown, the shop – along with most other businesses in the neighborhood - was closed, but that didn’t mean the alley and streets were empty. In fact, they were teeming with hundreds – if not thousands - of now homeless Novigradians who had fled to the capital to escape the annihilation of their free city.

 

Wearing dirty cloaks and with cowls covering their faces, Malek and Timataal were indistinguishable from any other of the homeless and downtrodden that were now living in the outer neighborhoods of Tretogor – the neighborhoods outside of the city’s walls. If Timataal had leaned over onto his side and turned his head, he would have been able to gaze upward along a wide road that ran for more than a mile on a gradual, ascending slope.  At the top of that large hill sat the Redanian royal residence, which was easily twice the size of the witcher stronghold of Kaer Morhen. The capital city sprawled out from the royal palace on each of the hill’s four sides. The elegance of the homes and businesses was directly related to their proximity to the palace.  Along with the most high-end restaurants, hotels, boutiques, and brothels, many nobles and leaders of commerce had residences near the castle.  The further down the hill one traveled, the seedier and grimier the streets, buildings, and citizens became. The city itself seemed to embody the nobles’ belief that piss and filth flowed downhill.

 

From his vantage point in the alley, Timataal had a clear view of the Pontar Road, the main entryway into the city from the south.  There was no gate barring access into the city, for there were no walls surrounding the city, either. Or, at least, there was no wall this far out.  Centuries ago, as businesses and homes were built up around the royal palace, a strong, thick, gated wall was built to protect the populace.  However, over time, more and more people continued to flock to the capital, constructing new homes and shops outside the city walls, and none of the Redanian kings had ever bothered to build a second wall around the newer Tretogorian citizens and neighborhoods.  Thus, the city had a literal wall separating the rich and privileged that lived near the palace from the poor and unwashed living down below – just as the upper crust believed there should be.

 

Malek and his men had been in the Redanian capital for four days, doing their best to watch the city’s entryways for Evie’s arrival.  Malek’s problem was that – with no outer wall - there were more ways into the city than he had men available. Thus, he couldn’t be sure that she and the witcher hadn’t already snuck their way past his watchers.  And that was assuming that Tretogor was even their destination.  His decision to come to the capital was based purely upon Celeste’s revelation that Claude was imprisoned there.  But none of that uncertainty was what was troubling Malek the most.

 

            “I’m surprised,” replied the stout Nilfgaardian to Malek’s remark. “After all the years we’ve known each other, you don’t think I can read you? You haven’t been yourself since we left Novigrad.”

 

            Malek didn’t say anything, but he did give just the slightest nod of his head.

 

            “You worried she’s dead?”

 

            “That’s partly it.”

 

            Timataal nodded. “Well…luckily, she’s with the witcher. I’m sure he got her out.” Then, he added, “Because he’s good…isn’t he?” This last question was laced with a mirthful tone.

 

            Malek couldn’t see Timataal’s face, but he knew his second-in-command was sporting a “I told you so” grin.

 

“I told you what happened, so you already know the answer to that. Yes…he’s very good. He could’ve killed me at any point. I’d heard about the Signs he can use, but…I’d never seen them in action.”

 

“Now you know how those three soldiers in Tarsus felt when he hexed their minds.”

 

“Yeah. It’s a pretty helpless feeling.”

 

            “So, what are you going to do if you – or we - have to face him again?”

 

            “I’m working on it.  I figure if dimeritium will neutralize a mage’s powers, then hopefully it’ll work on him, too.  That, and Miss Vigo said she could potentially create a magical amulet to block the mind-control.”

 

            “And you actually trust her? You know, I’ve _never_ known you to be so cozy with a magic user. Maybe I don’t know you so well, after all,” he said in jest.

 

            “Yes, well… sometimes situations call for less-than-ideal alliances.”

 

            Timataal nodded. “Hey, you’ll hear no complaints from me. I would’ve bled out in the Blue Mountains if not for her so…I’m partial to her.”  Out of the corner of his eye, he could see his boss nodding his head in agreement.  “But, your niece…the witcher…not the only thing bothering you, is it?”

 

            Malek didn’t say anything for a while. Timataal finally heard him exhale deeply and then he spoke.

 

            “Have I ever given you any orders or…acted in a way that you were fundamentally opposed to?”

 

            Timataal was quiet for a moment and then shook his head.

 

“Nah. I mean, sure, you’ve given directives that I questioned, that I haven’t always completely agreed with. But, you know me - I’ve always let you know if I thought there was a better way of accomplishing the task.  But…if you’re talking about something that has been crossways with my moral code…then, no.”

 

            “And if I did, how would you respond?”

 

            Timataal shrugged. “Well, you and I have the type of relationship where I could talk to you about it so…I would talk to you about it.”

 

            “And if talking didn’t change my mind?”

 

            For the first time in their conversation, Timataal stopped scanning his surroundings for Evie and turned to face the man next to him.

 

“Malek, I’m closer to you than I am to anyone else in this world. Hell, even my own kids. You know I’d die for you. And part of our friendship has always been based on the fact that, on the main things, we’ve more or less always seen eye to eye. But, there are _some_ things I’d never compromise on…not even for you. If you started acting like…let’s say, Radovid…then I’d try to keep you from going down that path, but I _wouldn’t_ let you take me down it with you.”

 

The two men stared into each other’s eyes for several moments before Malek eventually shifted his gaze downward as he became lost in thought. In his mind, he saw Novigrad – the second largest city on the Continent – engulfed in flames. He heard the screams of thousands of perishing souls - including those of children – who’d had absolutely no role to play in the war between Nilfgaard and the North. He imagined their bodies burned to nothing but ash. And he thought about the man who had given the order to destroy the city. He wondered just how he was going to be able to reconcile himself to it all.

 

oOo

 

It had taken Geralt, Evie and the rest several days to make it to Tretogor, and they had not arrived prior to the gates of the city’s walls being closed and barred.  Fortunately, thanks to Roche’s espionage and connections, the group had been able to sneak their way into the city proper.  But, even then, they’d had to be careful.  Scores of Redanian soldiers manned both the city’s walls and streets.  Geralt, Barcain, Ves and Roche had spent the bulk of the last twenty-four hours scouting out the royal palace’s defenses from all sides.

 

Per the king’s orders, the palace was on full alert.  The gates to the palace grounds remained closed, and soldiers were on constant patrol along the ramparts, atop the battlements.   Other archers sat in the barbican and various bastions looking out the arrow loops for approaching enemy forces. And if enemy forces were indeed able to make it past the city’s walls and reach the palace, then they would be quite easy to see.  While the city of Tretogor did surround the palace grounds, for safety purposes, the closest buildings were well over fifty yards away from the thirty-foot high, outer palace walls.  Therefore, it would be very difficult for any invaders to sneak across that wide expanse undetected – a fifty-yard expanse riddled with various traps and obstacles. According to Roche, the keep, in addition to the city itself, looked to be on severe lockdown, certainly more so than the last time he and Ves had been in the area over a week ago. Of course, that made sense.  Everyone assumed it was in response to the attack of Novigrad. 

           

“Okay, Roche, you and your men have been watching Radovid’s castle for over a year. So, how do we get in?” asked the witcher. “It looks impenetrable.”

 

            “If we tried going through the front gate or over the walls, then I’d agree,” answered the Temerian.

 

            The group was all currently gathered around a table in one of his safe-houses within the city.

 

            “Then, what’s your plan?” asked Barcain.

 

            “We go _under_ the walls.”

 

            Roche went on to explain that one of his spies inside of the castle had informed him of the presence of catacombs below the palace grounds.  She had never seen them herself, but she’d heard whispers of a maze of caves that were used as secret passages in and out of the castle. After receiving that information, Roche and his men had spent weeks searching the countryside for every cave entrance.  While they had found a few, none of the caves, as far as they could tell, led to the royal residence.  One of the other rumors that his spy had passed on was that one of the secret passages came out somewhere within the Romanov Bank. 

           

            “So, why haven’t you used it to infiltrate the castle and kill Radovid?” asked Geralt.

 

            “And just how were we supposed to do that?  That bank is more heavily guarded than a priestess’ knickers, and I’ve got less than twenty men. Even if we were somehow able to overwhelm the bank guards, Radovid’s soldiers would be on us like sailors on a whorehouse. But now…” responded the commando with a smile, “we’ve got ourselves a mage and a witcher on our side. That should even out the odds a bit.”

 

oOo

 

            “I’m not a fool,” proclaimed Evie with conviction. “Killing is clearly sometimes necessary…in self-defense or war. But, unlike you, I don’t think it’s the only solution for every situation.”

 

            “Lady, look around you,” said Roche with furrowed brows.  “What do you think we’re in the middle of - if not war?”

 

            Evie shook her head.  “You said it yourself – the bank guards are not Redanian soldiers. They are just ordinary citizens, hired to protect the bank.  They are not our enemy.”

 

            She then turned to face the witcher. “Geralt, you know how I feel about this.”

 

            Roche snorted and addressed the White Wolf.

 

“What the hell, Witcher?  You married a pacifist? She keep your balls in a box, too?” He then glared at Evie. “And I don’t remember even asking for your input on this. This is a combat mission, not a history lesson so keep your opinions to yourself.”

 

            Suddenly, there was incredible tension within the small, crowded room.  Roche, Ves, and most of his men, along with Geralt and his group, had been discussing for the last hour the best way to infiltrate the Romanov Bank.  Evie had clearly taken issue with Roche’s assumption that once inside they’d simply kill all of the bank guards.

 

            The Butcher of Blaviken stared hard at the commando. For several long moments, he just breathed in and out very slowly. Evie, seeing the look on his face, reached under the table and squeezed his thigh.  She’d seen that look before. Finally, the monster-slayer spoke in a very low voice.

 

“Wanna insult me, Roche?  Fine, I can take it. But, I advise you to be _extremely_ careful how you speak to my wife.  It could end very badly for you.”

 

            Roche’s eyes never faltered. He stared right at Geralt.

 

            “Fair enough, but if you think I’m going to risk the lives of _any_ of my men just to placate your wife, then you’re a fool.”

 

“Gentlemen, please,” interjected Benny. “Let’s remember...we’re on the same side here, right? We’re all trying to get into the cavern below the bank.” He then turned to Roche. “ _How_ we do it – killing or not killing - shouldn’t matter, right?”

 

            The Temerian tore his gaze away from the witcher, looked at the mage, and gave a short nod.

 

            “Just know – if any guard comes at me or my men with deadly force, we _will_ respond in kind.”

 

            “I don’t believe any of us here have a problem with that.” continued Benny, turning his head to look at everyone in the room. He then looked back at Roche. “But, let us” - and the sorcerer motioned in his friends’ direction – “worry about taking care of the bank guards. I think we can do it without bloodshed.”

 

            “Sounds fine to me,” replied Roche. He then turned to look at Evie. “Just know that once we’re inside the palace, it _will be_ bloody. The Redanian soldiers are not just going to lay down their weapons because we ask nicely.  I _hope_ that’s not going to offend your…sensibilities.”

 

            “Your concern is touching. Don’t worry. I’ll manage,” she replied, while once again squeezing her husband’s leg in reassurance.

 

oOo

 

_Velen, Temeria_

 

            Yoana came awake to the sound of Fergus’ voice.  She raised up in her bed and saw her friend standing at the threshold of her bedroom door still wearing his sleeping clothes.

 

            “Yoana! Get up! You gotta see this!”

 

            “What is it?” she asked, suddenly completely alert.

 

            “The fire. It’s closer,” the dwarf answered, before turning his back on her and heading to the front door of their shared hut.

 

            Yoana threw a shawl around her shoulders, found her shoes, and headed outside.  As she was walking towards Fergus, she noticed that he - along with at least a dozen other folk who called Crow’s Perch home - was facing towards the northeast.  Her eyes shot upward toward the horizon in that direction.  What she saw was unmistakable.  Fergus was right. It was fire. For the last three days, everyone’s attention had been focused on the enormous clouds of black smoke filling the sky in the north, and it seemed that the fire and smoke got closer each day.  The fire that she was seeing now was the closest yet.

 

            “Do you think it’s a forest fire?” she asked Fergus as she came up next to him.

 

            “Nay. There’s not enough trees in that direction to make a fire that big.”

 

            “Then what?”

 

            “I’m afeared it’s the Inn at the Crossroads, and it looks like the fire is comin’ our way.”

 

            “But we’re safe.  The moat should protect us, right?”

 

            Fergus didn’t answer.

 

            They stood there for at least ten minutes just staring at the night sky when suddenly Yoana heard a rumble.  But, it didn’t come from the sky.  In fact, she could have sworn she felt a vibration in her feet.

 

            “Did you hear that, Fergus? Was that thunder?”

 

            “Let’s hope. Pray the rain comes.”

 

            A moment later, she felt another vibration.

 

            “That’s not thunder,” she whispered.

 

            Fergus turned to look at Yoana. “I’m thinkin’ you’re right. Let’s -” But, he never finished his thought.

 

            Suddenly, the roof of the main house exploded, eliciting shouts of dismay from virtually everyone there.  Some of the residents of Crow’s Perch immediately ran away.  Some were frozen in place. While a few others took a few tentative steps towards the house. 

 

            “What the hell was that?” screamed Yoana, now clutching Fergus’ night shirt in her tight fist.

 

            “A meteor?”

 

            Whatever it was had caused the house to catch fire.  They could now all smell smoke and see flames sprouting up through the hole in the roof.  This caused shouts of “Fire!” to be called out as many of the men started running towards the compound’s well to start drawing buckets of water. 

 

            Yoana was running in that direction, as well, when she heard a roar coming from the house.  Her eyes widened in shock as a gigantic creature burst its way through the front wall of the building.  It turned and then breathed out a massive flame of fire towards the wooden rubble.  Upon hearing screams behind it, the monster slowly turned around. It let out another roar and began running towards the well, where a congregation was still gathered.  Yoana didn’t even bother to see what was going to happen.  She simply ran – as fast and as hard as she’d ever run in her life.

 

oOo

 

            “Ugh”, whispered Evie. “I can’t believe you’re friends with that guy. What an arrogant… jerk.”

 

            Evie and Geralt were lying together on a blanket in a corner of one of the rooms in the safe-house.  They were sharing the room with at least a dozen others. The late-night meeting had ended a half-hour ago, with everyone finally in agreement on the plan of action for infiltrating the Romanov Bank.  It was agreed that they’d all get a few hours of sleep before the sun rose, and then they’d start preparations for the incursion.

 

            “Told you he wasn’t my friend,” the witcher replied in his own whisper. His mouth was right next to her ear. “He and I did a few favors for each other in the past – that’s all.”

 

            “Well…I still don’t like him. He’s obnoxious.”

 

            Geralt grinned to himself in the dark. He loved his wife’s integrity and her passion, that she stood up for her principles. He wasn’t sure he’d ever seen her so angry before, and he was quite happy it wasn’t directed at him. 

 

“Agreed, but I’m not sure that I’ve ever met a military commander who wasn’t.  He’s a career soldier, not a diplomat.  And commanders aren’t used to having their orders questioned.  They expect to hear a, ‘Yes, sir,’ and that’s it.”

           

            Evie let out a small snort. “Well, I’m not his soldier.” She paused for a moment, and when she spoke again, her tone was much less angry and much more anxious. “You told me on the river that you don’t trust him. You don’t think that, once we’re inside, he’d try to kill us, do you?”

           

            The witcher was quiet for a moment. “No. I have no doubt he’d try to kill us if he thought it would somehow advance his cause, but…I just don’t see how turning on us while we’re in Radovid’s palace would help him in any way. We should be fine.”

           

            Evie sighed. “Should be. Great. I think I liked it better when you and I were fighting nekkers.  At least then, I knew who the enemy was.”

 

            Geralt gave his wife a squeeze. “Hey, I’m supposed to be the cynical, untrusting one in this relationship, remember?”

 

            “Yeah, well…maybe you’re rubbing off on me,” she whispered. The witcher could tell she had a smile on her face.

 

            “Baby, that’s not good at all. I’m in need of _your_ influence. Not the other way around.”

 

            Evie squeezed Geralt’s hand that was pressed to one of her breasts.

 

            “Thank you, Geralt.”

 

            “For what?”

 

            “For standing up for me with Roche.  It made me feel really good that you did.”

 

            “That’s what husbands do,” he whispered, as he held her a bit tighter. 

 

Suddenly, she felt very aroused.  Her body was responding to – not only his hot breath on her ear but also – his supportive and strong words.  She felt so safe and protected.  She wanted to roll over and undress her husband right then and there, but she was suddenly and rudely interrupted from her thoughts by the sound of someone on the other side of the room farting in their sleep, which made her sigh and roll her eyes. So instead, she brought Geralt’s hand up to her lips, and kissed it once, lightly. 

 

“I’m so looking forward to our honeymoon.  Just the two of us,” she whispered.

 

The witcher smiled. “Me, too, wife.  Soon. We’ll have it soon.”

 

Then, Evie did her best to fall asleep, hoping that her dreams would be filled with nothing but her and Geralt – all alone and spending time together at Corvo Bianco.

 

oOo

 

            “So, what do you think?” asked Benny.

 

            Geralt looked down at his unconscious wife lying peacefully on a blanket and then back to the mage. He brought the soaked rag close to his nose. After taking a tentative sniff, he shook his head several times as if to clear the cobwebs from his brain. He nodded. 

 

“I think you’re a genius - that’s what I think,” the witcher answered.  “It never would have even occurred to me to combine those ingredients like this.”

 

The sorcerer shrugged.  “Yes, well…it’s all a matter of perspective. As a healer, my focus with using alchemy is _quite_ different than yours…my witcher friend.”

 

“That is true.”

 

The witcher then looked out of the safehouse window to gauge the amount of sunlight left in the day.

 

“Alright, let’s get to work on the bombs. You’ll probably need to head to the bank soon.”

 

“Agreed,” said Benny, and then he exhaled deeply.

 

Geralt looked at the mage’s face. “You okay? Want to go over the plan one last time.”

 

“Nah. Easy-peasy.”

 

Geralt slapped his friend on the shoulder. “Yeah. Now, let’s wake up my wife.”

 

oOo

 

King Radovid sat in a high-backed chair in his war room. Standing in front of him was the captain of his palace guard.

 

“I have just received word that a small enemy force will be attempting to infiltrate the palace sometime tonight through the caverns,” stated the king.

 

Captain Winski suddenly snapped to attention upon hearing those words.

 

“Your Highness, are you sure?”

 

“Do not question my sources, Captain.”

 

Winski humbly bowed his head. “My apologies, Your Grace.  Your news simply shocked me. Your instructions?”

 

A smile crossed Radovid’s face as he imagined a large chess board.  “We draw them into our ambush, and then we will crush them.”

 

oOo

 

_Krollas Forest, Redania_

 

            The Nilfgaardian commander lay camouflaged inside the tree line of the forest located due north of the capital city of Redania. Though he had scouts, he had chosen to view the situation with his own eyes. With his spy-glass, he slowly scanned the city from end to end. He took special notice of the activity along the city’s walls and along those of the royal palace, itself. He smiled to himself as he realized that the bulk of Radovid’s men were on the southern and western borders of the city. It appeared that the king had not received any warning of the Nilfgaardians’ amphibious assault of his lands from the northwest. The Redanian monarch had dispatched a scouting party into the Krollas forest, but they had been completely overwhelmed by the Black Ones.  They had all been captured or killed. Thus, the Nilfgaardian attack from the north still held its element of surprise.

 

            The commander took the spy-glass from his eye and slowly crawled backwards from the edge of the forest.  Once he felt he was safely confined within the thick shadows of the trees, he stood and turned around.  Standing in a cluster were the commander’s officers.

 

            “Prepare your men,” he ordered. “We attack tonight. Remember, we kill, but we do not burn the city.  If this turns into a siege, we’ll need every bit of food and shelter available.

 

oOo

 

Benny, standing in utter darkness, put his ear to the closed door and listened intently for at least a full minute.  He couldn’t hear any noises coming from the other side.  He cast a concealment charm on himself and held his breath as he slowly opened the door to the second-floor supply closet. With the door open just an inch, he paused and listened again. He still heard nothing. He quickly slid out of the closet and then carefully and quietly shut it.  He tried to control his breathing as he looked around, and he nodded his head to himself when he saw that he was all alone in the darkened, upstairs hallway of the Romanov Bank.  He looked toward the end of the hallway – the end with the stairs – and he could just detect flickering light visible from the first floor. He could also hear muffled laughter echoing up the stone stair well.  Having spent an hour in the bank earlier that morning under his disillusionment spell, he figured that both the light and the men’s voices were emanating from the bank guards’ barracks that was on the north side of building’s ground floor. Benny’s observations from that morning’s reconnaissance had matched Roche’s intel.  The bank always had ten to twelve men guarding the premises during the day, and at least half that number stayed on duty overnight, even with the bank securely locked down. Given that virtually every noble in Tretogor kept valuables within his vault, Victor Romanov took security very seriously.

 

Benny turned away from the stairwell and wished that he had Geralt’s cat eyes because he could see next-to-nothing. With one hand lightly touching the wall next to him and his other hand in front of him, Benny slowly moved in the opposite direction of the stairwell, passing several offices on his left and right. At the end of the hallway stood a large window that faced the back-side of the bank.  During the day, the sun shone brightly through the glass, but at night, it – like the rest of the bank’s windows – was covered with thick metal shutters that were locked from the interior. After reaching the window, Benny traced his fingertips along the iron surface until he found the metal padlock in the middle, locking the two shutters together.  He reached into his satchel and pulled out a large, thick, cloth shirt and two small vials. Since there was not any moonlight coming through the crack where the two shutters met, Benny was having to handle his supplies completely by his sense of touch. He wadded up the shirt and placed it on the floor below the window sill.  He then looked over his shoulder back towards the stairwell one last time before removing the stopper from one of the vials and pouring a viscous liquid over the padlock. He quickly removed the stopper from the second vial and poured its contents over the lock, as well.  Immediately, the metal padlock started to dissolve under the corrosive, acidic reaction.

 

Benny was breathing fast, and he could feel several beads of sweat running down from his hairline. He was wiping his forehead with the back of his hand when he heard loud laughter coming from the first floor. He jerked his head around towards the stairwell and held his breath.  He could feel his heart pounding against his ribcage.  After a moment, he realized the laughter wasn’t making its way upstairs, and he exhaled deeply. 

 

He turned back towards the window and whispered, “Come on, come on.”

 

Suddenly, he heard a tiny pop. The lock fell from its hinge, landed on the cloth shirt, but then bounced off and clattered onto the stone floor.  Benny’s eyes went wide. To his ears, the sound was as loud as a window shattering.  He held his breath again.  He could swear that the guards’ laughter had suddenly stopped. Fear gripped him, and he just knew guards would be coming up the stairs at any second. He was still invisible, but if guards investigated the second-floor hallway, they were sure to see that the window had been tampered with.

 

He reached into a second satchel, resting on the opposite hip from the first.  He grabbed one of the special bombs that Geralt had crafted that afternoon and started slowly tiptoeing down the hall towards the stairwell.  Halfway down the hall, he stopped and again listened carefully. Suddenly, he heard the loud laughter and talking start up again.  He rested his back and head against the wall to catch his breath.

 

_“I am not cut out for this,”_ he thought to himself. _“I should be in my lab, conducting experiments for new potions, healing sick kids. Not…this.”_

Magic was Benny’s life. The aging sorcerer had spent virtually his entire life in or around the Ban Ard Magical Academy. And despite his kindness and humility, he hadn’t made many true friends over the years.  Ban Ardians were clearly appreciative of his healing skills, but they had also always been a bit wary of him due to his magical abilities. And his fellow sorcerers? Well, they seemed to look down on the meek and unambitious – at least, in their eyes – man with middle-of-the road power. It wasn’t that they were hostile towards him, but in the society of magic, where the most powerful were advisors in royal courts and whose actions influenced the fate of nations, who really cared to befriend a short, portly fellow who cured peasants’ tummy aches? That’s why Benny had always cherished Geralt’s friendship more than the witcher ever knew.  Geralt – despite being the famous White Wolf – had always treated Benny as an equal. It’s what had caused him to decide to follow Geralt on this adventure. And he was glad he had.  He had found acceptance in the group.

 

The sorcerer breathed in and out very deeply and purposefully. _“Okay, get it together, Benny.  They’re counting on you.”_

 

He then nodded his head several times to reassure himself before walking slowly back towards the window.

 

In addition to the padlocked-hinge, the shutters were also barred closed.  As carefully as he could, he slid all three, flat, metal bars to the right.  He paused and looked over his shoulder one last time before slowly swinging the shutters open.  However, even with them now open, the hallway was still dark, for the light coming through the window was negligible.  Thick clouds filled the night sky, blocking out nearly all illumination from the moon and stars.  He looked through the glass panes into the darkened alley below.  Not seeing anyone, he cautiously raised the window inch-by-inch.  Suddenly, he saw three men appear out of the shadows and run towards the bank’s outer wall. 

 

Benny was about to poke his head out the window and look down when suddenly two hands appeared and grasped the window sill.  A second later, Geralt was crawling through the open window and then standing next to the mage. 

 

“Great job,” whispered Geralt.

 

“Yeah…piece of cake,” replied the sorcerer, still breathing heavily.

 

“Hey, you okay?”

 

“You bet. Like I said, easy-peasy.”

 

The witcher nodded. “Have they been making rounds?”

 

Benny shook his head.  “I haven’t heard them come up here even once. Sounds like they’re all down in their barracks.”

 

“Looks like things are finally going our way. Come on.”

 

oOo

 

Ratibor carefully looked into the eyes of the seven men sitting around him at the large table.

 

“I bet…fifty,” he finally said, keeping his face impassive, and then he placed the coin in front of him on the table. His face may have shown nothing, but his heart was thumping hard.

 

“Too rich for me,” replied the guard to his left, as he tossed his cards toward the dealer.

 

Two of the players thought long and hard on their decisions, but, eventually, both men, in turn, folded their hands.  As the last man mucked his cards, the tiniest of smiles crossed Ratibor’s face.  He picked up the two cards that were face-down in front of him.  


“Gentleman,” he said calmly, and then he made eye contact with each of the men again.  Then, he exhaled deeply.  “You each owe me a golden dragon,” he said with a huge smile as he showed everyone his cards.  “I got the hammer.” 

 

            Ratibor let out a huge laugh – one of both joy and relief – as he heard shouts of “No!” and “Damn it!” from his friends.  Prior to the start of the game, they’d all agreed that if anyone won a pot with the “hammer” – the worst starting hand possible – then each player would owe the winner a golden dragon.  The game-within-the-game certainly increased the betting action.

 

As the bank guard was reaching for the coins in front of him, he suddenly picked up a movement out of the corner of his eye. Before he could move, he heard the sound of shattering glass coming from the middle of the table, and when he looked there, he saw a broken, glass and metal cannister. As the card-players all jumped to their feet, two more projectiles were tossed into the guards’ barracks, exploding on the floor near the men, and then, suddenly, the lone door of the room slammed shut, seemingly all on its own. 

 

Ratibor grabbed his sword that was leaning against the table. He unsheathed it and started rushing towards the closed door when he started to feel light-headed.  He took several more, unstable steps forward and grabbed the door handle, but when he pulled, the door wouldn’t budge.  He heard a crash behind him. When he turned, he saw several of his mates falling to the floor.  He shook his head as his vision began to darken.  He took a step backward, stumbled, and then he felt himself falling as his world went black. 

 

On the other side of the closed door, stood the witcher.  With both hands on the handle and one foot up against the wall, he was pulling back with all his strength.  Benny, invisible, was beside him. 

 

After about a minute, Geralt turned to his friend.

 

“I don’t hear anything.  They should be out, right?”

 

“Gotta be,” answered Benny.

 

“Okay.  I’ll stay here just in case.  You go let the rest in the backdoor.”

 

oOo

 

It was well past midnight, and Private Durbin, standing atop Tretogor’s city wall, was doing his best to stay awake.  He and his company had been tasked with protecting the northern perimeter of the city. They had been on high alert for many days, but with each passing shift of guarding the wall with no Nilfgaardian attack, the “edge” on the soldier’s focus had become dulled.  It was just human nature. He could only stare off into the distance with nothing happening for so long.  It would have helped, he thought, if all of the peasants in the outer neighborhoods had been let inside the city’s walls. At least, then, hearing a noise or seeing a person walking through a passing shadow would have warned him, without a doubt, of the enemy’s presence. But, as it was, there was no way to distinguish between a Nilfgaardian soldier and a drunken bum stumbling his way home.  And after a while, the sounds of shutting doors, barking dogs, and footsteps through alleyways just became routine.  And it certainly didn’t help that the homes and shops in the outer neighborhoods were built right up next to the city wall itself.  Talk about giving the enemy good cover.  He was just thinking about what would be served for breakfast when a crossbow bolt pierced his brain. As his body was toppling off the top of the wall, a dozen, black-clad men – all carrying ladders - emerged from the shadows below. Suddenly, shouts could be heard all along the northern wall of Tretogor.  The Black Ones had arrived.

 

oOo

 

            While Roche and his men were busy upstairs – first, letting the fumes in the barracks dissipate and then binding up the bank guards - Geralt had spent the last half hour in the basement of the bank.  Common-sense told the witcher that if there was a secret passage into any catacombs, then he’d find it somewhere down below. In addition to the vault, the lowest-level held several small offices. The White Wolf had already inspected two of them and was standing before a third.  Unlike the first two, this office’s door was locked. After closely examining the threshold and finding nothing suspicious, he easily gained access to the room with a swift quick near the door’s handle.  As soon as the monster-hunter stepped into the office, he sensed something out of place.  At first, his brain couldn’t discern what his instincts were picking up, but then he realized that the small room smelled different than the rest.  It had a musty odor, as if no one had been it for weeks.

 

He scanned a small desk in the middle of the room.  Unlike the desks in the other offices, this one had no papers tossed about on it. It appeared as if it was rarely – if ever - used.  He rubbed his index finger across the top of the desk, creating a smudge through the layer of dust. The witcher stood still and breathed in and out deeply several times. In addition to the musty odor, there was some other smell that he was detecting in the small office, and the odor put him on high-alert.

 

He looked over his shoulder at Evie and Benny standing in the hallway, just outside of the office.  Evie was holding a torch in her hand. 

 

“Stay there. I think the entrance is somewhere in here, but give me a few more minutes,” he informed them.

 

The witcher bent down and inspected the floor around him.  He didn’t notice anything suspicious near the desk so he began slowly making his way around the small office.  He noticed some boot prints on the dusty floor. He followed them over to one side of the room, stopped in front of a book case, and bent down a second time. 

 

“Marks on the floor. The dust has been disturbed,” he said loud enough for Benny and Evie to hear. “Looks like this bookcase has been moved several times.”

 

Geralt carefully examined the back edge of the bookcase that was touching the wall.   He cast a standard Quen Sign, grabbed the edge of the bookcase and pulled, but it wouldn’t budge.  He put a little extra “muscle” into his effort a second time, but still, the bookcase didn’t move.

 

“Odd,” he said quietly and then began looking at the books on the case.

 

“What’s wrong?” asked Evie.

 

“Think the case is definitely hiding something, but I can’t move it.  So, there’s gotta be some kind of lever or mechanism.”

 

“Can we help?” asked Benny.

 

“Prefer not…at least, not yet. Told you…there could be booby-traps.”

 

Geralt spent the next few moments inspecting the books on the case. 

 

“Dust on all the books, too,” he said to himself.  Because the faint, suspicious smell was stronger near the bookcase, he didn’t even risk touching any of the books, much less actually removing any from the shelves on which they were resting.

 

Eventually, he turned his head and looked at the waist-high table next to the bookcase.  On one end of the table was a two-foot tall, bronze bust of King Radovid.  Geralt bent over and carefully inspected both the bust and the area around it.  He brought his face just inches from Radovid’s.  He inhaled deeply but didn’t smell anything strange.  However, he did notice that Radovid’s head wasn’t completely covered in dust.  The top of the bust’s head – where the crown rested – gleamed a bit in several spots, as if someone had grasped it with their hand. The witcher raised up and looked around the office before, finally, turning back towards the table. He reached out his hand to grab the bust but, then, stopped just inches short of touching it.  He stood there, simply staring at Radovid’s face. Finally, he dropped his hand to his side and stepped back two paces.  He then withdrew his steel sword from his back and crouched down low. 

 

“Be ready,” he warned Evie and Benny.

 

“For what?” asked Benny.

 

“For anything.”

 

The witcher slowly reached his sword forward towards the bust.  He placed the tip of the sword between Radovid’s eyes, and then he tipped the bust backwards, the anterior portion of the bust’s base coming up off of the table top.  He heard a “click” and then a “thrumming” sound above his head as a spear shot out from one side of the room and impaled itself in the wall about an inch above Radovid’s crown. Evie yelped and Benny jumped back from the doorway.  A moment later, he poked his head back into view, his eyes wide.

 

“You okay?” Evie asked.

 

The witcher looked back at his wife and nodded. He noticed her breathing was suddenly very fast.

 

“What a maniac.  Even his bust wants to kill you,” whispered Benny.

 

The bust was partially tipped over with the head resting against the wall.  This gave Geralt the chance to view the bottom-side of the statue’s base.  Evie thought that she heard him mumble to himself, and then she noticed that he grabbed the blade of his sword in his left hand.  He reached forward – with the hilt facing away from him - and caught the back-side of the bust with the cross-guard of his sword. He slowly pulled the bust back up-right so that it was resting flat on the table top again, and then he continued to pull it forward.  Once the back-side of the bust’s base was two inches of the table, Geralt heard another “clicking” sound. However, this time, no deadly spears flew through the air.  The noise had come from the bookcase.  He quickly glanced over and saw that the bookcase was no longer flush with the wall.  By now, his Quen shield had faded so he signed another and turned towards the bookcase.  He, once again, used his sword – this time, to swing the bookcase away from the wall, as if it was on a hinge. Behind the case was a narrow, dark passageway.

 

“You found it!” Evie exclaimed.

 

As she and Benny stepped into the room, Geralt raised his hand towards them.

 

“Wait.”

 

“What is it?” she asked.

 

The witcher pointed to the backside of the bookcase.  Attached there were several dangerous looking cannisters. 

 

“Just be careful,” Geralt answered.  He then stood, stepped forward, and examined them closely.  “Thought I smelled poison earlier. Looks like they’re connected to the books with wires. If I’d pulled a book off the shelf, they would have exploded.” 

 

“Uh, Geralt?” said Benny.

 

“Yeah?”

 

“No offense, but…I volunteer you to go through the passage first.”

 

            “Yeah,” he said as he nodded and made eye-contact with his wife.

 

oOo

 

            King Radovid stood eerily still in the dungeons of his palace.  Flanked on either side of him were his two personal bodyguards, Ivan and Igor. The identical-twin brothers stood over seven feet tall, with arms the size of most men’s thighs.  The monarch had tried waiting in his war room to hear of the results of the imminent ambush in the catacombs.  He had told Winski, the captain of his guard, to contact him immediately when the enemy’s infiltration team had been captured. However, after several hours of hearing nothing, Radovid had grown impatient and come down to the lower-levels of the palace.  He and his two guards stood in a secret room, the king staring at a man-sized hole in the rock wall – a hole that led down into the maze of connecting caverns below the city. 

 

Not for the first time, Radovid pondered the existence of luck in the universe. For most of his life, if he believed in luck at all, he would have said it only came in one kind – bad.  It was his bad luck to be, in his youth, educated and mentored – and tortured - by someone as despicable as Philippa Eilhart.  But it had only made him stronger. He had been forged like steel in those years of abuse, and he told himself that, because of it, no amount of luck could now stand up to his analytical mind and his will to survive. Despite their attempts to usurp what was rightfully his, he had thwarted the plans of everyone who had ever opposed him, whether it was Eilhart; Dijkstra, his father’s former advisor; Emhyr; or any other who wanted to remove his crown.

 

            But, perhaps, he thought, good luck existed, too.  For this spy – the one who had brought to him the knowledge of the Sword of Destruction and the one who had informed him of this attempt to sneak into his palace – had simply stepped right into his circle, as if a gift from the gods.  Radovid had spent no resources in trying to manipulate and turn one of Emhyr’s agents – or, at least, not in regards to the Sword – since he hadn’t even known of its existence.  One day, this spy had just, figuratively and almost literally, knocked on his door.  Of course, given who this spy was, Radovid had been suspicious at first, but over time the agent had earned his trust. He still wasn’t sure that he even believed in the existence of this mythical sword.  It sounded like a fairy-tale to him.  Therefore, initially, he had focused no attention on finding its location.  Obviously, defeating the invading Nilfgaardian army was his priority. However, when it became clear that Emhyr was actively seeking the Sword, Radovid starting taking its existence more seriously.  If nothing else, he hoped to obtain it first just to crush the southern emperor’s spirit.  The North had lived in fear of Nilfgaard for too long, and he was determined to do what his father – and all the other Nordling monarchs – had failed to do.  He would crush Emhyr and the Black Ones so thoroughly that they would never cross the Yaruga again.

 

            Suddenly, Radovid was brought out of his thoughts by a knock on the door of the secret room.  A Redanian officer entered, gasping for breath.

 

            “Your Highness,” said the officer. “The Nilfgaardians have breeched the city’s northern walls.”

 

            Radovid narrowed his eyes and then turned to his two bodyguards.

 

            “You two remain here.  When Winski and his men return with their captives, help him secure them in the cells and, then, notify me at once.”

 

            The king hurried out of the room and up the stairs to his war room without even waiting to hear their reply.

 

oOo

 

            “Captain Roche, I don’t understand you,” said Evie.

 

            “Lady, that’s the understatement of the century. I’m quite sure you don’t understand me at all,” replied the Temerian commando.

 

            Barcain and Lydial had snuck out of Tretogor earlier in the day and were at an agreed-to location south of the city with horses, but everyone else was down in the basement of the bank, anxiously awaiting the witcher’s return.  Except for Evie and Benny, they were all wearing Redanian soldier gear that they had confiscated through various means over the past twelve months of living in and around the capital city.

 

The witcher had been adamant that he should conduct a reconnaissance of the catacombs alone since he was the only one capable of seeing in the dark and he didn’t want the light from torches giving away their presence to anyone – or anything – who might be lurking below. Roche’s argument was that neither he nor his men needed the monster-hunter’s protection, but he had acquiesced in the end.

 

            “Hey, you wanna go down there by yourself and risk your life, that’s on you,” Roche had told the witcher.

 

            That had been over ten minutes ago.  The Temerian was now addressing the historian from Vicovaro.

 

            “What _exactly_ don’t you understand?” Roche asked Evie, the small sneer on his face visible to all.

 

            “Well, given your desire for Temeria’s freedom, it makes more sense to me that you’d be fighting the Nilfgaardians – you know, the _actual_ army that is occupying your country. Why are you so focused on Radovid?”

 

            Roche just stared at Evie for a long while, as if contemplating on whether he should even bother to answer. Eventually, he relented.

 

“As a historian, I’m sure you’re aware of the saying, ‘The enemy of my enemy is my friend.’”  

 

            Evie nodded.

 

            “Well, in this case, that’s a load of crap.  Both sides are Temeria’s enemy, and I’ll do _whatever_ I have to do to destroy them both. Regardless of how underhanded the means may be. No matter how bloody it gets. No matter how repulsive it may be to you.”

 

             Evie sighed. “What about me offends you so much?”

 

            “You’re naïve and foolish.  You live in your safe, morally-superior tower of academia with your high-minded, elitist ideals, miles away from the stench and ugliness of the real world.  You don’t want to kill.  Fine. But the rest of us” – and he motioned to his men – “are in the middle of a war. It’s kill or be killed.  Men like Emhyr and Radovid understand only one thing – violence.   They _don’t_ compromise. Negotiate with them, and they’ll kill you as soon as you lower your guard. They’ve both done it before. You can’t bargain with them or appease them.  So, it’s simple. You can only cut their heads off. And that’s what we plan to do.”

 

            “And you’ll kill anyone who gets in your way.” It was a statement from Evie, not a question.

 

            Roche smiled, but it wasn’t friendly.

 

            “It’s lucky we’re on the same side then…isn’t it?” 

 

oOo

 

            The witcher descended the ladder and stepped onto the hard ground of a completely black cavern.  While his cat-like eyes allowed him to see in dark environments, Geralt had decided to take a Cat potion, as well, for there was not even the tiniest bit of illumination down below.  Based on how long it had taken him to climb down the ladder, he figured that he was well over fifty feet underground.  He paused where he stood and used his senses to take in his surroundings.  He noticed that he wasn’t in a narrow, man-made passageway.  Clearly, the catacombs were natural, with stalactites hanging from the ceiling and stalagmites and boulders and other rocks scattered about. It was also quite wide – at least twenty feet across.  He turned his head to face what he believed to be north – towards the palace – and saw that, up ahead, the passageway branched in several different directions.  The monster-slayer listened intently.  Somewhere in the maze-like caverns he could hear water slowly dripping, and behind him, to the south, he thought he could detect the sound of some type of non-human creature, but it was so faint that he wasn’t sure exactly what it was.  The White Wolf slowly unsheathed his silver sword and then, becoming one with the darkness, he carefully and silently began moving north.

 


	16. Chapter 16

            The witcher literally stopped in his tracks. He had one foot in the air when he heard the unmistakable noise so he lowered his raised foot back to where it had been on the cavern floor and listened closely.  After several moments, he continued forward in total silence, now even more cautious of where and how he stepped. He crept around a bend in the passageway and suddenly froze again.  On both his left and right, crouched behind boulders and stalagmites, were several dozen Redanian soldiers hiding in the complete darkness.  In addition to swords on their hips, almost all of them carried a crossbow.  He had no idea how long they had been hiding there, but they had no torches or campfires lit, and he couldn’t smell any smoldering embers.  They must have been waiting for at least a couple of hours. Since they were waiting in the dark, then it could only mean that they were planning an ambush, for light would have spoiled the element of surprise.  And if they were planning an ambush, then there was pretty much only one logical conclusion to be made. And it wasn’t good.  The witcher cursed to himself.

 

If Geralt had not possessed decades of experience in highly dangerous situations, he would have been completely unnerved, standing just yards away from what looked to be close to fifty of Radovid’s men. Hidden by the darkness, he now understood how Benny felt when under a disillusionment spell, and he briefly wondered if he could ever manipulate the chaotic Power enough to cast such a spell for himself. It would be something he’d definitely want to try later on – assuming that there would be a ‘later on.’

 

The witcher maintained his slow, controlled breathing and carefully surveyed the surroundings.  He listened closely and could hear a couple of soldiers whispering.  Based on their comments, he gathered that they had been waiting down in the cavern for a while and that their nerves were starting to fray. Good, thought the witcher.  He hoped he could use that to his advantage.  His eyes moved upward towards the ceiling of the cave.  He nodded to himself at what he saw, and then he slowly turned and walked away, the Redanians never even aware that he’d been there.

 

oOo

 

            “Does this help us or not?” Evie asked Benny in a whisper. 

 

            Earlier, they’d all heard loud shouting coming from above.  At first, they thought that the bank guards had somehow removed their gags and were making noise.  However, Ves had just come down to the basement to report that Redanian soldiers were rushing towards the northern side of the city – the side opposite to the bank’s location.  And that could only mean one thing – a Nilfgaardian invasion.

 

            “That’s got to help, right? If the Redanians are focused on defending the city’s walls, then we should be able to get in and out of the palace that much easier.”

 

            Evie nodded in agreement. “Let’s hope.”

 

oOo

 

            “Wait a second,” said Roche. “You’re telling us that there are fifty soldiers down there – _in the dark?”_

 

            “That’s exactly what I’m telling you,” answered the witcher, his eyes boring into those of the Temerian.  The five of them - Geralt, Evie, Benny, Roche, and Ves - were in one of the offices in the bank’s basement with the door closed.

 

            Roche shifted his eyes over to Ves.  The both looked like they had just bitten into a rotten apple.

 

            “Just how well do you know your men, Roche?” asked Geralt.

 

            “Screw you, Witcher. I vouch for all of them,” said Roche, taking a step toward the monster-slayer.

 

            “Is that right? You once told me you don’t trust anybody,” the witcher growled.

 

            “Wait,” interrupted Evie. “Geralt, what’s going on? I’m confused.”

 

            “What’s going on is that those soldiers down there _in the dark_ can only mean one of two things. They’re either waiting on a Nilfgaardian attack to come through the caverns. Or, they’re waiting for us.  And if they’re waiting for us, then that means someone told them we were coming.” Geralt was speaking to Evie, but his eyes never left Roche.

 

            “Well, it wasn’t any of my men.”

 

            The witcher shook his head. “Just how much do you trust those spies of yours that are inside the palace?”

 

            “Not completely, but…it can’t be them. They didn’t know anything about tonight.”

 

            “Roche,” interrupted Ves.

 

            “What?”

 

            “Let me go check the men. I’ll be right back.”

 

            Roche nodded.

 

            Three minutes later, Ves walked back into the office, looking angry.

 

            “Markinson’s not here.”

 

            “What? Well, where the hell is he?”

 

            She shook her head. “I don’t know, but this afternoon, he did say he had to go to our other safe-house to pick up his Redanian uniform. I could have sworn he was with us tonight when we came to the bank, but now…I’m not sure he ever returned.”

 

            “Damn it, Ves! And you’re just telling me this now!”

 

            “Hey, I’m just finding out about it myself. Besides, _you’re_ in charge, Roche. It’s the commander’s responsibility to know where his men are!”

 

            “Enough!” growled the witcher. “You two can argue later about who cocked this up. Markinson – who is he?”

 

            “He’s a good man and a good soldier,” answered Roche. “If he’s not here, then obviously, something happened to him, but…he’d no more betray Temeria than I would. We don’t even know he said anything. Maybe the Redanians are down there because they got word about Nilfgaard’s invasion.”

 

            “I agree with Roche, Geralt,” said Ves. “I know Markinson.  He’s Temerian through and through. The only way he’d rat us out is under extreme torture.”

 

“Swell,” mumbled the witcher to himself. “Well, regardless of _why_ they’re down there, they _are_ down there,” the witcher growled toward Roche. “So, we’ve gotta figure out what we’re gonna do now.  Tonight might be our only chance of getting into the palace so we gotta come up with something.”

 

            “What are our options?” asked Benny.

 

            Geralt was silent for a moment before speaking.

 

            “I see…maybe three options. With the Redanians focused on the attack to the north, we could, maybe, climb the southern wall. That is, if we’ve got some grappling hooks and rope.  But, I don’t know how inconspicuous we could be.  I’ll be honest – I don’t like that option at all. There are way too many opportunities to be seen.”

 

“Agreed,” said Roche.

 

“A second option - we bypass the soldiers down below and try to find an alternate route through the caverns to the palace. But, there’s no guarantee that there even is an alternate route or what might be lurking along those other paths.  There could be something worse than soldiers waiting for us.  Or three…we take the fight to the soldiers below.  We do now have the element of surprise.”

 

            Roche grabbed a quill and a piece of parchment off the office desk, turned the parchment over with its blank side up, and then handed Geralt the quill. 

 

            “Draw us a layout of the cavern and where the soldiers are situated.”

 

            Five minutes later, they all left the office to debrief Roche’s men on the upcoming mission.  As they were walking out, Geralt got Evie’s attention and she stayed back.

 

            Evie spoke before he could even say anything.

 

            “I know. I know.  You want to make sure that I know to stay behind everyone, out of harm’s way.”

 

            The witcher nodded. “You read my mind.  I _really_ wish you would’ve gone with Lydial to wait with our horses outside of town.”

 

            “We discussed this, Geralt.  What if we can find Claude but can’t break him out?  I need to be there so that I can talk with him.”

 

            “I know, and I agree.  I just don’t like it.” He sighed deeply.  “But, then again, it has been about four days since you were last in mortal danger so…I guess we’re past due.”

 

            She gave him a small smile. “I’d laugh if it weren’t so true.” 

 

oOo

 

            Geralt paused and turned around. He saw the long line of men behind him. Leading everyone through the dark caverns, it had taken him twice as long to reach the Redanian ambush site as when he’d been alone.  He had walked extra slowly to ensure that no one behind him stumbled. Noise discipline was crucial if they were going to pull this off.  Since they were easily outnumbered two-to-one, then surprising the Redanians was their only chance of walking out of those catacombs alive.

 

oOo

 

Ratibor was finally able to wriggle one hand free from the ropes.  He reached up and pulled the gag from his mouth.

 

“Hang on, boys,” he whispered to his fellow bank guards. “Another minute and we’ll all be loose. And then we’ll go find those bastards.”

 

oOo

 

            The White Wolf was kneeling on the cavern floor at the edge of the wider area where the Redanians were hiding.  This wider area was about fifty feet long and bottle-necked at both ends.  He reached into a small satchel on his belt, removed a violet-colored potion, and quickly downed it.  In addition to the satchel at his waist, he also had two bandoliers crisscrossing his chest, and attached to both were of a variety of bombs.  He unclipped three, holding one in his right hand and two in his left.  He turned his head and looked behind him at Roche and all his men.  The witcher could easily sense the adrenaline already flowing through them in anticipation of the battle. 

 

            Geralt stood and looked to his left and right one final time and inhaled deeply. He exhaled slowly, and as he came to its end, he tossed the three Devil’s Puffball explosives towards the Redanians on his right as quickly as possible.   When the bombs made contact with the hard ground and nearby rocks, there was no huge explosion.  However, in the quiet cavern, the cannisters cracking was loud enough to get everyone’s attention and, suddenly, the Redanian soldiers jumped to the ready.

 

Before the soldiers on the right had even begun to feel the effects of the poisonous gas enveloping them, Geralt had thrown three more bombs – Dragon’s Dream – towards the men on the left.  Like the first three bombs, these three did not emit any bright light when they detonated.  Thus, the cavern – though now noisy with men’s gagging, coughing, and shouting – was still completely dark. 

 

As soon as the third Dragon’s Dream had left his hand, Geralt took off in a sprint along the left-hand side of the cavern.  As he ran by those soldiers, he held his left arm straight out to his side and signed a continuous stream of Igni flame.  The flammable gas from the bombs immediately exploded in a violent, fiery blast, engulfing almost all the Redanians on that side of the cave.  The soldiers who didn’t catch on fire were still severely singed from the explosion.

 

Now that dozens of flame-covered bodies were illuminating the entire cavern, the witcher knew he was no longer concealed by the darkness so he cast a Quen Sign as he came to the northern end of the ambush site.  He immediately turned and threw a Dancing Star bomb high in the air above the coughing Redanians on his original right.  The explosive detonated against the stalactites on the cavern’s ceiling.  As large chunks of rock were falling down on top of the soldiers, Geralt was already grasping several more bombs and tossing them towards soldiers on both sides of the cavern.

 

The Dragon’s Dream gas exploding into flames had been the Temerians’ signal to engage.  They fled into the area – on the opposite end of where the witcher was now standing – and began filling every non-Quen-protected individual with as many crossbow bolts as possible.

 

oOo

 

            Upon hearing the sound of explosions echoing through the catacombs and up into the palace dungeons, Radovid’s giant-sized body-guards, Ivan and Igor, looked at each other.  They immediately knew something was amiss.  Their king’s orders to Winski had been to capture – not kill.  Possessing the intuitive connection that characterized many identical twins, Ivan and Igor didn’t even bother speaking.  They simply nodded to the other, lowered the visors on their helms, and rushed down into the dark cavern.

 

oOo

 

            Roche gave a battle cry, and he – with his men – drew their swords and charged into Redanians.  The good news was that Geralt’s surprise attack had incapacitated over half of them.  The bad news was that there was nearly two dozen of Radovid’s soldiers still alive, and they were desperately fighting to stay that way.  Captain Winski was a battle-hardened soldier, and he quickly rallied his troops for the melee.  And, fortunately for them, they had already been warned that their enemy would be wearing Redanian uniforms.  Thus, there’d be no hesitation on their part to strike with lethal intentions.

 

oOo

 

            “Damn it,” Geralt cursed to himself.

 

            The witcher stood on the north end of the cavern, temporarily isolated from the main fight on the south end.  The last bomb that he’d tossed had knocked several large chunks of stalactites from the ceiling.  The dust it had thrown up into the air obscured his vision, and he wanted to wait a few seconds for it to dissipate.  Charging blindly into battle was a quick way to the grave – even for a witcher. Plus, with both sides wearing Redanian uniforms, he didn’t want to kill any Temerians by accident.

 

            He was standing there, protected by his Quen, and about to rush into the fray when he felt a light thump against his back.  It wasn’t painful at all, but immediately his Quen shield disappeared.  He turned around and saw, entering the cavern from a narrow passageway, two of the biggest men he’d ever seen in his life. Malek would have looked normal-sized next to them. They had swords and shields drawn, heading his way.  In addition to their size, he also noticed that they were wearing heavy, full plate armor from head to toe.  Other than horizontal eye-slits and some holes near the mouth and nose to aid in breathing, even their faces were completely protected.

 

He tried to cast another Quen, but when nothing happened, he cursed again. Dimeritium, he thought to himself.  It made sense. As paranoid as Radovid was against magic users, the White Wolf wouldn’t be surprised if all of his soldiers had some type of magic-inhibiting weapons on their person.

 

Suddenly, he heard the sound of deep chuckling reverberating out of the two giants’ helms.

 

“Ohhh…what’s wrong, witcher? Can the freak not use his magic?” asked one in a mocking tone.

 

“You’ll have to face us like a man…no mutant tricks…just swords,” said the other. “We’ll see who wins then.”

 

            The two giants slowed as they neared the witcher, and then they began to circle him, one moving to his left and the other to his right.  

 

oOo

 

            Both Evie and Benny were crouched behind cover in the narrow, bottle-necked area. Neither had any skill in wielding a sword, and even though Evie possessed a cross-bow she didn’t want to blindly shoot it into the crowd.  Thus, they had both stayed back when Roche and the others had charged ahead.  Several Redanian corpses were on the ground still burning brightly and giving off just enough illumination that the combatants could see their enemies. 

 

            Evie’s eyes scanned the melee in front of her, but she couldn’t see her husband anywhere.  The soldiers’ shouts and the clanging of metal on metal was echoing off the cavern walls so loudly that, at first, she didn’t hear Benny yelling her name right next to her. He grabbed her by the shoulder to get her attention.

 

            “Evie!” he yelled again. “We’ve got trouble.”

 

            She saw him pointing to his right.  A group of eight men, carrying torches and swords, were running up the passageway towards the melee.  She recognized them immediately - the guards from the bank.

 

oOo

 

            Geralt ducked as an enormous, long-sword hissed through the air above him. He immediately dodged to his left as a second, identical sword sliced downward right where he’d been standing.  He spun to his right and slashed his steel weapon across Ivan’s shoulder, but his blade barely made a scratch against the heavy armor.  He quickly rolled away as Igor brought his blade downward to cleave the witcher in two. 

 

            “Is that the best the little man can do?” mocked Ivan. “You’re a wee man with a wee sword.”

 

            “You can’t run forever, little man,” added Igor.

 

            The witcher came to his feet and turned toward the two Redanians.  As they were starting their second approach, he quickly whirled between the two giants. His blade whipped around him, and sparks flew as it struck their armor a half-a-dozen times. He came out of his whirl and immediately rolled away, just avoiding their massive swords being swung in his direction. He had actually felt the wind brush his hair as one blade just missed splitting his skull. As he faced the two men, he, once again, heard more mocking laughter.

 

            “Impressive dancing, freak. But, your little witcher sword can’t beat true Redanian knight’s armor.”

 

            “He’s like a little gnat, Igor. Buzzing around, but nothing more than a nuisance.”

 

            “Keep buzzing, little gnat.  We’ll swat you in time.”

 

Geralt realized that the two men – even while wearing the heavy armor - were incredibly quick for their size.  And just as importantly, they seemed to work well together. And given the strength of these men, he doubted if his armor would make a bit of difference against their steel.  He might as well have been wearing a light, cotton shirt and trousers. He couldn’t afford a single mistake against these two.  Just one slip of the foot, just one dodge in the wrong direction or a split-second too late, and he’d be cut in half.

 

            While keeping his eyes on the threat in front of him, he brought his hand up to his chest and quickly ran it across both bandoliers.  He cursed under his breath when he realized that they were both almost completely empty.  With his fingertips, he could only feel two explosives remaining.  He blindly grabbed one of them and backhand tossed it at the giant on his left.   The bomb shattered against his shield, and Geralt immediately cursed again. It was a Dragon’s Dream, which was pretty much worthless since he needed a fire to ignite the gas and he couldn’t cast an Igni at the moment. 

 

            “I think he’s getting desperate, Ivan.”

 

            “Keeping buzzing, little gnat.  You’ll tire soon.”

 

            The two men were again slowly approaching the witcher.  They swung their swords at the same time. Geralt dodged to his right, parrying the sword on that side. He spun close to Igor and threw his right hand upward, ringing the pommel of his sword off of the man’s metal helm, hoping to disorient his opponent.  It clearly didn’t work, for the witcher was knocked backward at least ten feet as Igor connected with a massive backhand punch with his shield-covered arm. Geralt flew through the air, and as he hit the ground, he rolled back onto his feet, immediately expecting their next attack. He didn’t have to wait long.

 

            Igor chuckled as the two giants circled the witcher.

 

 “Ha! I swat you, little gnat.”

 

            They attacked a third time, with the exact same results as before – the witcher just barely dodging their blades and his own blade doing no damage at all.

 

            “I think he’s slowing, Igor.”

 

            “Yes, it will not be much longer, brother.”

 

            This cat-and-mouse game went on for only one more turn – with Geralt using his incredible reflexes and dexterity to avoid their attacks but also not able to penetrate their thick armor – before the witcher realized he’d have to change his tactics.  Their plate was just too thick.  And they were right. He could feel his muscles starting to tire. It was just a little, but a little was all it would take for him to taste death down in those catacombs.

 

            His eyes scanned the two giants, looking for weaknesses, and he quickly knew what he’d have to do. He would need to draw them in closer.

 

oOo

 

            Evie aimed and fired her crossbow again. While, at this point, she couldn’t distinguish Roche’s men from the Redanians, it was obvious to her who the bank guards were due to their uniforms.  She was having no trouble differentiating one from another since they had dropped their torches before joining the fight and the flames were lighting up the surroundings.  Though there was now enough illumination in the cavern for all combatants to see, the battle itself had turned into total chaos.  Since everyone there was wearing similar Redanian garb, the bank guards didn’t know who was who and just began attacking whomever was closest.  At several points, a Redanian and Temerian actually teamed-up, turning and fighting side-by-side against an attacking bank guard. 

 

            Several men died due to the guards’ unexpected attack from behind, but given how heavily they were outnumbered, the eight bank guards all quickly perished.  At that point, Winski and Roche’s men continued their fight against each other. Evie really had no idea how the battle was going – which side was winning – but she could clearly hear Roche’s voice as he barked out orders and encouragement to his men.

 

oOo

 

            Ivan and Igor were circling the witcher again. Ivan, on the witcher’s left, swung his blade horizontally while Igor’s sword – a fraction of a second later – slashed downward.

Geralt sidestepped away from one attack and parried the other.  Time seemed to stand still as the three of them watched the witcher’s sword fly through the air and land fifteen feet away on the cavern floor.

 

            The two Redanians turned to look at the witcher, who was simply standing there very still, his hands down at his sides. One of the two giants then unexpectedly sheathed his sword and dropped his shield. 

 

            “The little gnat is mine, Igor. I’m going to crush him with my bare hands,” said Ivan as he slowly moved to the witcher’s left while Igor – with his sword still drawn – moved to the right.

 

In the shadows of the dark cavern, neither man could see the tiniest of smiles come to the witcher’s face. Immediately, Igor swung his blade at Geralt, and a spit-second later, Ivan lunged forward to catch the witcher in his mighty grip. The White Wolf both side-stepped Igor’s blade and rolled under Ivan’s out-stretched arms and towards the giant. As he was in mid-roll, he reached down to his thigh and unsheathed his knife. He came to his feet – but still in the crouched position – right next to Ivan’s out-stretched leg.  With a swift back-handed motion, the monster-slayer drove his knife blade deep into the back of the Redanian’s knee – just sliding it through the gap between two pieces of armor.  The witcher was already rolling away - just avoiding Igor’s second sword attack - before he even registered Ivan roaring out in pain.  Geralt came out of his roll on the balls of his feet and saw that Ivan was down on one knee and struggling to stand.

 

For the first time since the battle had started, the witcher spoke.

 

“Careful…this gnat can bite.” When neither man responded, he said, “What? No more witty banter?”

 

Igor looked at his injured brother and then back to the witcher.

 

“I will kill you,” he snarled.

 

“Come and get me.”

 

            As Igor slowly and cautiously approached the witcher, Geralt glanced down to his bandolier and smiled as he recognized his last remaining bomb - a Samum. Instantly, he grasped the explosive in his left hand and back-hand tossed it toward his attacker.  The bomb detonated against Igor’s shield, the white-light explosion temporarily blinding the giant of a man.  The witcher immediately took three, swift steps forward, and on the third step, he bent low, his right knee touching the ground.  His face was only about a foot from the Redanian’s codpiece when he swung his right arm in an upward arc, driving the knife into giant’s unprotected groin area – just between the codpiece and the thigh armor.

 

            Igor screamed in agony, but the witcher wasn’t done. He quickly withdrew the knife, reached up and grabbed the forearm of the Redanian’s sword arm with his left hand, and then thrust his knife into a slight gap near the large man’s elbow.  Geralt twisted the blade as he withdrew it, slicing through tendons and ligaments.  This elicited another howl of pain and caused the giant to drop his blade. 

 

            The White Wolf immediately rolled twice – once away from Igor, and then the second time, over towards his steel sword.  He scooped it up and came to his feet in one, smooth motion.  He turned to face Ivan who was now standing but also struggling to put weight on his right leg.  Then, the Redanian bellowed a battle rage, and despite the injury to his knee, he ran at the witcher.  The monster-hunter, crouching low and on the balls of his feet, stood perfectly still as Ivan charged at him.  At the last instant, as Ivan was bringing down his sword towards the witcher’s head, Geralt deftly moved diagonally – forward and to the left. Ivan’s blade slashed through the air and, missing its intended target, dug deeply into the ground of the cavern.  The witcher shot his left fist forward and slammed it into the back of the giant’s right shoulder. That punch, along with the momentum of the attack, caused Ivan to be completely facing away from the White Wolf.  In a flash, the witcher stepped forward and bent low, and once again, swung his knife in an upward arc. The blade found the flesh of Ivan’s groin. As the giant screamed and fell forward on the ground, Geralt withdrew his knife and then jammed it into the back of Ivan’s left knee - again, right in the gap between the armor. The witcher didn’t think the man would stand again – ever.

 

            Geralt heard a noise behind and immediately rolled to his left without even looking.  He sensed a blade swishing overhead, and when he came to his feet he saw that the other giant had dropped his shield and was now wielding his sword in his left hand.  Igor swung his blade again, but it was very uncoordinated in his off-hand, and the witcher easily side-stepped the attack.  The next two attacks the White Wolf simply parried.  The giant was moving slowly, his groin injury clearly affecting him.  On Igor’s next attack, Geralt - still holding his sword in his left hand - parried the blade to the side as he pirouetted towards the giant.  As he came out of his spin and was facing the Redanian, he brought his right hand up high and plunged his knife blade right through the eye-slit of the man’s helm.  He quickly pulled the knife free and skipped away from his adversary.  He looked at the giant who was just standing there, silent and still.  The witcher was prepared for the man to attack again, when a second later, the Redanian fell face-forward, slamming into the cavern floor. 

 

            The witcher quickly sheathed both his sword and knife and then picked up Igor’s large weapon.  The giant had easily wielded it with one hand, but for most men, given its weight, it could have only been used as a two-handed sword. The White Wolf walked over to the still-prone Ivan, who was moaning in agony from his injuries.

 

            “You were right, funny man.  My sword did nothing against your armor. But, my little knife…it stings like a bitch, doesn’t it?”

 

            Upon hearing Geralt’s voice above him, Ivan immediately swung his left arm out, attempting to grab the witcher by the leg and drag him down.  But, the monster-slayer was too smart for that. He’d expected the move and easily hopped back out of reach. Ivan then pushed his upper torso off the ground with his massive arms and turned his head, looking up at his adversary. The Butcher of Blakiven sneered.

 

            “Now, let’s see how your dead brother’s blade will fare, shall we?”

 

            The witcher brought the heavy, great-sword high above his head and, with incredible force and a guttural grunt, he swung downward towards the giant’s neck. To the witcher’s disappointment, Ivan’s head did not fly off from his body, but the blade did completely slice through the chainmail that was supposed to protect the back of the giant’s neck in the small gap where the helm and body armor did not meet. The Redanian’s body fell to the ground limp and dead, the blade of the sword stuck in place.

 

            The White Wolf gave a short nod of his head.

 

“It’ll do.”

 

            At that point, the witcher turned his focus to the southern part of the cave, where Redanians and Temerians were still in the middle of their own battle.  He let go of the giant’s sword, unsheathed his own, and then ran towards the melee.

           

oOo

 

            Evie was staring at the carnage in front of her.  Almost everyone down in the cavern was dead or wounded.  She watched Roche prowling around, and whenever he came across a still-breathing Redanian lying on the ground, he’d drive his sword through their heart.  Part of her wanted to protest, but the guilt was eating away at her, and she suddenly seemed to have lost the backbone to stand up to the commando.  As if reading her mind, the Temerian – after finishing off the last living Redanian - turned and strode purposefully towards her, Geralt, and Benny.

 

            Ves looked up and saw him heading that way and said, “Roche, don’t.”  But, he paid her no mind so she ran up alongside of him.

 

            “Dureb, Harkel, and Nueman,” said Roche in a soft but clearly angry tone as he stopped in front of Evie.

 

            “What?” she asked.

 

            “Dureb…Harkel…Nueman,” he annunciated very slowly.  “I don’t know who else of my men may have died by the bank guards’ hands, but I _know_ that those three did.  Those were three damn-fine soldiers and damn-fine patriots.  Dead…because of your bleeding, pacifist heart.  Live with that,” he growled out.

 

            “Roche, that’s uncalled for,” said Benny.

 

            The witcher unsheathed his sword. “Back the hell off, or I _will_ kill you.” 

 

Evie reached out to grab Geralt’s right arm.  “No, Geralt, don’t.  He’s right.”

 

He turned to look at his wife.  She nodded her head ever so slightly and looked him in the eyes. “He’s right,” she repeated in a whisper.

 

            The Temerian just glared at the two of them.

 

            “Witcher, whatever you owed me, whatever I owed you…we’re even now.  We’re done.”

 

He looked at Evie with contempt and shook his head several times.

 

“Let’s go, Ves,” he said as he turned and marched back to where his three other still-living commandos were huddled. 

 

“It was great meeting you, Benny,” said Ves sadly, giving the mage a hug and a kiss on the cheek.

 

“Geralt,” she said, offering her hand.  The witcher paused for a moment before moving his sword to his left hand. He then reached out and grasped hers.  “We couldn’t have made it down here without you…so, thanks.”

 

The witcher just nodded.

 

“Ves, let’s go!” yelled Roche from the other side of the cavern.

 

Ves glanced at Evie but didn’t say anything.  She quickly shifted her eyes back to Geralt.

 

“See you around, Witcher,” she said with a smile as she started backing away. “Who knows what the future holds, right?”

 

With that, she turned and sauntered over to her fellow Temerians. Almost immediately, the five of them moved northward through the cavern, towards the palace, aiming to kill a king. 

 

“It’s not your fault, Evie.  Roche is just upset right now,” said Benny.

 

Evie didn’t respond.  Her head was lowered and she was staring down at the floor of the cavern.

 

“Geralt?” she whispered.

 

The witcher sheathed his blade and turned to look at his wife.

 

“Yeah?”

 

“Just how many people are going to die because of me?” she asked, her voice breaking.

 

Geralt stepped forward and pulled her into a hug.  She immediately started crying so Benny walked away. 

 

oOo

 

            “Oh…no,” said Evie, her voice full of anguish.

 

            “This him?” asked Geralt, holding a man’s head upright so that she could see his face.

 

            She just nodded, afraid that her voice would betray her if she tried to speak again.

 

            It hadn’t taken the witcher long to scout out the dungeons of Radovid’s palace, find and subdue the dungeon keeper and his assistants, and confiscate their keys.  The three of them had then spent the next ten minutes looking through all the cells for Claude – Evie’s ex-husband and one of the Continent’s foremost experts in archeology.

 

            Claude was currently hanging limply against one of the stone walls in the cell.  If he had once been a healthy and handsome man, he wasn’t anymore. His arms were stretched out above him and his feet were a good distance from the floor.  His wrists and ankles were shackled to chains that ran through four separate iron hoops that were attached to the wall.  All of those chains were connected to a larger one that ran through a pulley near the ceiling, keeping him suspended off the floor.

 

            “Benny, hit that lever,” said Geralt, pointing to one side of the cell.

 

            Benny did so, and Claude’s body collapsed into Geralt’s waiting arms.  The witcher laid him down gently on the floor and then removed the iron shackles from his wrists and ankles.

 

            “Is he dead?” asked Evie, her voice barely above a whisper. 

 

            Geralt looked up at her. He could see the fear all over her face.

 

“No, I can hear his heartbeat…but it’s not strong.” He turned to his friend. “Benny, we’re definitely going to need you.”

 

            The mage knelt down next to Claude. He mumbled a spell to himself and both of his hands suddenly glowed with a purple light.  He then placed his hands about an inch from Claude’s head.  After a moment, he began moving his hands over other areas of the archeologist’s body. 

 

            “He’s alive but just barely,” Benny said as he continued the examination. “I don’t sense any major injuries, per se, but he’s clearly dehydrated and malnourished.  There’s no telling when he was last given food or water.  More concerning is that his body also seems to be flush with infection. Who knows how long it’s been attacking his brain and other organs.”

 

            “Can you save him?” asked Evie.

 

            “I…I don’t know,” he replied, looking up at her.

 

            “Well, do what you can,” said Geralt, standing up. “I’m gonna check the halls. Make sure we don’t have any surprises.”

 

            Geralt shut the cell-door behind him, withdrew his steel sword, and then began silently moving through the dungeons.  He listened closely and could just pick up the sound of men shouting somewhere way above him in the palace.  It sounded as if the situation was frantic up above, but, luckily, no one was fleeing down into the dungeons just yet.  Five minutes later, when the witcher returned to the cell and opened the door, he saw Evie and Benny both kneeling next to Claude.  Evie had her head bowed down, and it was clear she was crying again.  As Geralt sheathed his sword, Benny got to his feet and walked over to where the witcher was standing.

 

            Geralt looked at Benny, and the mage just shook his head.

 

            “He’s too far gone for my magic to bring him back.  If we were near a Place of Power, then I could tap into it and _maybe_ heal him enough to, at least, bring him back to consciousness. But I don’t sense any additional power down here, and I doubt he’ll last another half day even if we could carry him out of here.”

 

            Geralt looked over Benny’s head at Evie.  He cursed to himself.  She was already beating herself up over the deaths of Roche’s men, and now this.  He stared at his crying wife for several moments longer and then nodded his head.  As he looked back down at Benny, he reached up and grabbed his wolf-head medallion.

 

“What about this?” he asked in a whisper, looking the mage in the eye. “Could you tap into my medallion’s magic and save him?”

 

Benny paused for a second before answering. Then, he nodded.

 

            “Yeah, theoretically. But, Geralt…afterward, it’d be inert.  Nothing but an ordinary piece of jewelry.  Are you sure?” asked the sorcerer in a whisper of his own.

 

            The witcher nodded. “But let’s keep it to ourselves. In her emotional state right now, it wouldn’t surprise me if she wanted to fight me on it.”

 

            “Got it.”

 

            Geralt looked at his wife again and then quickly removed his medallion. He handed it to Benny, who palmed it. 

 

            “Evie,” said Benny, turning around. “I’m going to need you to come over here by Geralt.  I’m going to try one more spell, but it’s very powerful, and I don’t want you near me when I do it, okay?”

 

            She looked over at the two of them and nodded her head.  As she was walking towards Geralt, Benny moved back to Claude’s side.  He knelt down, and Geralt saw him place the medallion on the floor between his knees so that it couldn’t be seen by Evie.  He looked over at Geralt again, as if asking for a final confirmation.  Upon seeing Geralt give a nod, he turned back to Claude and began speaking a long and intricate spell.

 

            Evie’s eyes went wide as she saw the light around Benny’s hands grow much brighter than they had before.  She could feel the air in the dungeon cell change, and the hair on her arms and neck started to stand on end.   She immediately looked up at Geralt.  He looked down at her and nodded.

 

            “It’s the Power. He’s harnessing _a lot_.”

 

            She shivered uncontrollably. It felt as if a thousand, ice spiders were crawling across her skin.  She stared in fascination as she watched Benny lower his hands toward Claude’s body.  As the mage kept chanting the spell, Claude’s entire body began to glow.  This continued for several minutes, and with each passing second, Evie felt more and more uncomfortable. She sensed a great pressure on her body, as if an invisible force was pressing in on all sides, and she started to feel pain in her abdomen.  Suddenly, just when she didn’t think she could take any more of it, the glowing light blinked out and Benny collapsed, falling forward across Claude’s chest. 

 

            “Benny!” she yelled.

 

She and Geralt rushed forward, and he grabbed Benny and turned him over so that he could lie supine. 

 

            Evie sat on the floor. “Geralt, rest his head in my lap.”

 

            The witcher did as he was asked, and she looked down at her friend.  A slow trickle of blood was running from both of his nostrils. She reached down to stroke his cheek and was shocked by how cold he was.  She looked up at Geralt, fear in her eyes.

 

            “Geralt, he’s freezing! What do we do?”

 

            “Baby, I…I don’t know,” he said, shaking his head. He then reached up and felt the mage’s neck.  “Damn it, he’s got no pulse.”

 

            “Geralt,” she cried, tears coming to her eyes anew. “He can’t die, too!”

 

            Suddenly, the witcher had the craziest idea. 

 

            “Get up!” he yelled to Evie. “Get away from him!”

 

            He grabbed Benny and pulled him away from Claude.  He then reached down and grabbed the front of his vest.  He pulled the two sides apart, the vest’s buttons flying through the air.  He then did the same to Benny’s shirt.  Evie was now standing, looking down at her husband and her friend – the mage’s chest completely exposed. 

 

            “What are you doing?” she asked frantically.

 

            Geralt instantly thought back to the new witcher Sign that he’d been working on since last fall.  The new Sign with which he’d surprised Eskel.  He’d never actually used it in a real fight because that was not the time for experiments, but now…

 

            “I have no idea,” he answered back.  “Just stay away. Whatever you do, don’t touch him.”

 

            He knelt next to Benny and rested his palm against his chest.  He maneuvered his fingers into a special configuration, and with all the will-power that he possessed, he thought of lightning. 

 

            Immediately, he felt a charge at the end of his hand. Pain shot up his arm at the same time that Benny’s body spasmed on the floor.

 

            “Son of a bitch!” the witcher growled, shaking his hand back and forth and then flexing it several times.

 

            He looked down and saw a blackened palm-print on Benny’s chest over his heart.  He quickly reached up and checked his pulse.  Still nothing.

 

            He put his hand back over Benny’s heart again and looked at his wife.  He gave her a nervous smile.

 

            “Maybe not so much intensity on this one.”

 

            He cast the Sign and sent another bolt of lightning – this one not near as powerful or painful - into Benny’s heart.  The mage’s body jerked again.  The witcher then reached up again to check for a heartbeat. He kept his fingers on Benny’s neck for five, ten, then fifteen seconds.

 

            “Well?” she asked.

 

            The witcher looked up at his wife and then slowly smiled. He let out a half-laugh, half-exhalation.

 

            “It worked.  I don’t know how, but it worked.”

 

            Evie immediately knelt down next to Geralt and hugged him as she cried tears of relief.  She then turned to Benny and put her right hand on his chest, which was now slowly rising and falling.  As she watched her friend breathe, she grasped Geralt’s hand with her left and squeezed hard. 

 

            “Evangeline?” came a hoarse voice. “Is that you?”

 

            Evie immediately jerked her head towards Claude, whose eyes were now open and focused on his ex-wife. She couldn’t help herself. Overwhelmed by it all, she started crying again.

 

            “Excellent,” said Geralt. “You’re awake.”

 

            Claude raised himself up and rested on an elbow.  He looked at the bare-chested, unconscious man lying next to him.  He looked at his crying ex-wife.  And then he looked at the frightening, white-haired man who was clearly a witcher.

 

            “Yeah,” he answered. “I’m awake. _Very_ confused…but awake.  Who are you?”

 

            “Geralt of Rivia, and we need to know everything you know about the Sword of Destruction.”

 

            “The Sword of Destruction?” He looked at Evie and then back at the witcher. “You’ve gotta be kidding.”

 

            “Do I look like I ever kid?” growled the witcher.

 

            Claude looked at the twin swords on his back, the armor spotted with blood, the incredibly scarred face, and the fierce, cat-like eyes boring into his own.

 

“No…no, you don’t.”


	17. Chapter 17

_Southern_ _Tretogor_

 

Two hours after rescuing Claude from the palace dungeons, Geralt, Evie, and Benny finally made their way out of the catacombs and rendezvoused with Lydial and Barcain south of the city, and then the six of them headed east, pushing their horses hard under the cover of darkness.  East was the opposite direction that they ultimately needed to go, but at that point, they wanted to get away from the Nilfgaardian invasion as quickly as possible, and they figured east was their best bet to do so.  They weren’t alone in those thoughts.  They passed hundreds of frantic Tretogorian peasants – and displaced Novigradians - fleeing the city on foot. Only time would tell if the city’s rich and privileged would stay protected behind the walls or would decide to flee, as well.

 

Once they reached the forest located north of Rinde, Geralt felt more at ease since the thick woods gave them concealment from anyone in pursuit – not that he thought there was an actual pursuit. And when it finally dawned on him just where they were, he also became very reflective. Being back in that forest brought to mind the last time he’d been there, fighting – and burying – the giant-sized, rock troll.  He shook his head when he realized that that event had only been a year ago.  It seemed like a lifetime. He was amazed at just how much had changed in those twelve months. It had been, without a doubt, the darkest time in his life. He had been so overcome with grief due to Ciri’s death that he’d really wanted to do nothing else but die, as well.  And then he thought about where he was now – mentally, emotionally…and spiritually.  Just the fact that he even thought of himself in a spiritual sense was evidence of how much he’d changed, and he knew that he owed God his gratitude for that awakening.  He was convinced that Essea was responsible for his complete turn-around. In Geralt’s mind, there simply was no earthly explanation for it. It was only now, in retrospect, that the witcher could see Essea’s at-the-time invisible hand working in all the details of his life in the past year.  Even though he still had questions and doubts about who Essea was and what his ultimate plans were, he found himself talking to God more and more often – especially in the middle of the night when he stayed up watching over the others – specifically Evie – as they slept for a few brief hours, getting much-needed rest from their escape from the war-ravaged land.

 

It was during these travels that Evie explained to Claude their ultimate mission and why he had been jailed and interrogated by Radovid.  She showed him the Essean tome that she’d stolen, and they spent hours discussing it, its implications, and how the details inside might just relate to the Sword of Destruction.

 

“Tell me again about this sword,” said Barcain in a quiet voice that first night around their cold campsite.

 

Since they were still in Radovid-controlled territory, they had been staying off main roads, and when they had stopped that night, Geralt had suggested no campfire. Thus, except for the witcher, they could just barely make out each other’s faces from the moon and stars’ illumination shining through the tree branches.  After sitting down in a tight circle, Geralt had listened closely to the surroundings.  Even though he told them he couldn’t hear any human sounds close by – there was only the noise of forest creatures scuttling through the underbrush and their horses neighing softly nearby – he still recommended that they all whisper.

 

“Well, not a lot is known,” Claude started. “But a couple of documents have been found that date back to over a thousand years ago.”

 

“Dad had one,” Evie added.

 

“Had?” asked Benny. “You don’t have it?”

 

She shook her head. “No. After he and mom were murdered, I eventually made it back down to Vicovaro, but their house had been ransacked. A lot of things stolen. I don’t know if it was the murderers who also stole everything or if others looted the place afterward. But, either way, a lot of stuff was missing.  I spent one full day in his library going through his collection. There were several books and journals of his missing, and that was one of them. I specifically looked for it because it was one of his most prized books.”

 

“Did you ever read it?” asked Benny.

 

“Yeah, once, when I was a teenager.”

 

            “Really? What did it say?” asked the mage.

 

 Evie sighed. “I’ll be honest, I don’t remember _any_ of the details of it.  I read it twenty years ago, and at the time I didn’t take it seriously.  I just thought it was a fairy-tale.”

 

“So, Claude, do you know what these documents say about this sword?” Barcain asked.

 

“Well, the text that I had the chance to read was found in an excavation site in the far southwestern part of Aedirn,” said Claude. “It was near the Mahakam Mountains, a few miles outside of current-day Aldersberg. It appeared to be a man’s diary, and it wasn’t in the best condition.  Like I said, our best guess was that it dates back to around the first or second century.  The diary’s owner never saw the Sword himself.  He just wrote down the news he’d hear from travelers who passed through his town.”

 

“So, as you said, this sword could be nothing but a folk-tale, right?” Benny asked Evie.

 

“Yes. And a very obscure one at that since most people have never even heard of it. In the circles of academia – history and archeology - it’s always been considered nothing but a myth,” she answered.

 

“I’ve _always_ thought it was,” said Claude to everyone.

 

“So, what exactly did this diary say?” asked Geralt.

 

“Well, it was odd. The diary owner wrote that the Aen Seidhe were in the middle of an incredible civil war, which goes against everything we historians have ever known about the Aen Seidhe.  The elves have more or less always had a contentious relationship with humans, true, but not really amongst themselves.  Or, at least, that’s what I always thought – until today.” He looked at Lydial at that point.

 

            “Well, you’re not alone. Until recently, I had never heard or read of an Aen Seidhe civil war, either,” Lydial said. “I knew that after we came to this land, we eventually separated into clans and moved into different areas of the Continent. But, I’d never heard about any of those tribes fighting amongst themselves…until I read Evie’s tome.  A civil war is referred to in there.”     

 

 “And this possible civil war is important – why exactly?” asked Benny.

 

“Well,” answered Claude, “because, according to the diary, it apparently revolved around who possessed this Sword. The stories this man was told – and wrote down – were fantastical.  Tales of a magical sword, capable of wiping out entire armies of elves.”

 

“Just elves?” asked Geralt. “Were the Aen Seidhe not using it to kill humans, too?”

 

“Possibly…and given the history between the elves and humans, you’d think so,” said Claude. “But, the diary never mentions the Aen Seidhe attacking human towns.  Just each other.”

 

“That’s…strange,” whispered the witcher.

 

Claude nodded in agreement.

 

“Well, remember,” said Evie, “this was, in theory, only happening a hundred years or so after the Conjunction of the Spheres.  At that point, the human population wasn’t what it is now.  The Aen Seidhe were still the dominate race back then. Perhaps, the humans weren’t attacked simply because they just weren’t that significant yet – weren’t yet considered a threat.”

 

“You mentioned magic,” interjected Barcain. “What kind of magic could the Sword do?”

 

Claude shrugged his shoulders. “I don’t know.  Call down fire from the skies? Rend the earth apart? Who knows? Like I said, there’s never been any corroborating, physical evidence of its existence. It’s always been considered a myth.”

 

“If the Sword was so powerful, then how was it possible to even have a civil war.  It seems to me that whoever possessed it would just wipe out all his enemies no problem, right?” asked Benny. “I mean, who could actually fight back against something like that?”

 

“I agree,” said Claude. “The diary I read didn’t address that. Or, if it did, then it was on the pages that had disintegrated. The diary wasn’t in the best condition.”

 

“Perhaps the only thing that could stand up to the Sword’s power and magic was other magic.  Maybe that’s why the Aen Seidhe initially began researching the Power.  Historically – and even recently – we have had some very impressive magic-users,” said Lydial.

 

“This is real interesting and all,” voiced Geralt, “but the main question is – where is the Sword now?”

 

Claude looked at Evie, and she took over the story.

 

“This is what Claude and I have been discussing for the last day. The diary he read and Dad’s journal both date back to around the same time – the late first to early second century.  After that, as far as history is concerned, the Sword is never mentioned again. Thus, that’s when we think it went missing – somehow.”

 

She then held up the Essean tome that had been resting on her lap.  “In here, it talks about an invasion of the Continent by an unknown, foreign force.  And this foreign army supposedly defeated and captured most of the Aen Seidhe tribes.  This event was apparently called The Great Exile by the Aen Seidhe. And just when did this invasion and exile take place?” She slowly looked at everyone. “During the second century – the same time we think the Sword vanished.”

 

“So, you think this foreign nation not only conquered the Aen Seidhe but also stole the Sword?” asked Barcain. “Doesn’t sound like the Sword was that powerful then?”

 

“Well, obviously, we don’t know. These are just educated guesses. It could just be a coincidence that the exile and the Sword’s disappearance happened at the same time, but that’s a _big_ coincidence. And we don’t really have anything else to go on. But even if the Sword wasn’t taken by this conquering nation, then perhaps the full Essean Scriptures _can be_ found there. This thin tome I have is clearly just one of many books. Perhaps, when the Aen Seidhe went into exile, they took their complete religious scriptures with them, and if we can find them…then perhaps they’ll lead us to the Sword’s location,” she answered.

 

“How amazing would that be to find the complete Scriptures,” gushed Lydial. “I’d honestly rather find them than the Sword.”

 

Evie smiled at her grandmother and nodded in agreement. “I know.”

 

“So, who was this foreign nation?” asked Geralt, looking at both Evie and Claude.

 

“Maybe the other tomes tell us, but this one doesn’t,” said Evie. “It just states that they were foreign invaders. That’s why I wanted to speak with Claude. Despite his relatively young age compared to others in the field, he’s one of the best and most knowledgeable there is.”

 

Geralt turned to look at the archeologist.

 

“Thanks, Evangeline,” Claude said before addressing the witcher. “My research has shown that a foreign army did, indeed, invade the Continent during the early second century. There is actual archeological proof – swords, armor, and the like. From the Gearrlon nation.”

 

“Gearrlon? I’ve never heard of it,” said Benny.

 

“Not surprising. It doesn’t exist anymore. They were supposedly conquered by the Zerrikanians many centuries ago. Some think it was close to a millennium ago.”

 

“A millennium?” asked Benny. “But that would have been right after they took possession of the Sword.” After a breath, he continued.  “You know…I’m starting to get a bad feeling about this weapon. The Aen Seidhe had it first and look what’s happened to them.  Then, the Gearrlons get it, and they get wiped out.”

 

“It’s called the Sword of Destruction for a reason,” whispered Evie.

 

  No one said anything else for several long moments, just contemplating Evie’s last words. In the stillness of the night, the forest noises around them were amplified. However, they were all so focused on the implications of what they’d just discussed regarding the Sword that they didn’t even notice.  Finally, the witcher broke the silence.

 

“If the Zerrikanians defeated them, then is it safe to assume that Gearrlon must have been somewhere east of the Tir Torchair Mountains?” asked Geralt.

 

Claude nodded.

 

The witcher looked at his wife. “And you think this Sword might be there?”

 

Evie looked hesitant to answer. Finally, she said, “I don’t know. And even if it is there…” she paused and gave a sigh, “I’m not even sure we should bother with it anymore.”

 

“What?” asked Geralt. “Why not?”

 

“Well, if it is there, then it’s almost half a world away. Most likely completely out of either Emhyr or Radovid’s reach.  And if it’s stayed hidden this long…then maybe it just needs to stay that way. Maybe we’re messing with things that should just be left alone.”

 

            Geralt looked closely at his wife. Something had changed. For the last month, she’d been on fire with idea of finding this sword, but now, suddenly, she was having doubts.  He was definitely going to discuss this change of heart with her, but he’d do it later in private. He certainly wasn’t going to confront her in front of everyone else.

 

            “Well, we don’t have to decide tonight,” he finally remarked.  “Right now, our immediate goal is to just get out of Redania and as far away from Emhyr and Radovid as possible. Hopefully, we’ll be in Temeria by tomorrow night.”

 

            “From your lips to Essea’s ears,” said Lydial with a small smile.

 

            Benny shook his head. “I can’t believe it. Never thought I’d say these words, but I’m actually looking forward to being in Temeria of all places.”

 

“Yeah,” agreed Barcain. “Where your bowl of stew is served with a side of Catriona plague.”

 

oOo

 

_Cidaris_

 

            It had taken the crew almost a week to travel from Tretogor to the capital city of the kingdom of Cidaris – also called Cidaris – on the west coast of the Continent.  After sneaking across the Pontar and into Temeria in the middle of the night, they had made a hard turn to the west. Claude was desperate to find his wife and kids. After giving him the unfortunate news of Novigrad’s destruction but also the encouraging news of his family’s escape through Fringilla Vigo’s portal, he had decided to head to Oxenfurt.  Given that they had friends and family there, he figured that it was their most likely destination. 

 

            The journey was hard and took a little longer than usual for they had decided that it was still safest to stay off the main paths.  Even so, they were surprised at just how little Nilfgaardian presence they came across.  The peasants and farmers that they did encounter told them of the enormous Black army heading west towards the coast well over a fortnight past. They all assumed that was, most likely, the same army that had attacked Tretogor.

 

The six of them eventually came to the north-south road connecting Oxenfurt and Gors Velen.  It was there that Claude would bid them farewell and head north in search of his family.  After saying goodbye to the others, he faced Evie.

 

“Whether you find the Sword or not, promise me you’ll track me down in Oxenfurt afterward.  I’d love to know that you’re safe…and also to hear of your discoveries,” Claude said to Evie.

 

“We’ll see,” she replied with a sad smile. Then, she hugged him. “I want to say again how sorry I am for what happened to you and your family.  Please ask Celeste to forgive me.”

 

Claude chuckled. “That might be a lot to ask. She’s…well, she’s never really liked you. Not surprising, really. But, you did save my life – and hers and the kids, for that matter.  If you hadn’t shown up when you did, they probably would’ve died in Novigrad. That should count for something, right?” 

 

He then turned to the witcher and shook his hand. “Keep her safe, Geralt.”

 

The witcher nodded. “Count on it.”

 

After watching Claude ride off, the rest of the group looked at one another.  They still had not made a definitive plan with regards to the Sword but, eventually, they decided to make their way to a coastal city regardless.  Finding a port with a ship heading to Zerrikania would be necessary if they did, in fact, continue the hunt.  And it was for that reason that they wound up in Cidaris.

           

            They found a small inn several blocks from the harbor and rented two rooms.  Since money was starting to get tight and they had a possible long voyage to take, they’d chosen an inn that, after looking at its façade, Barcain said wasn’t fit for pigs.  After entering the establishment and getting his first smell of the place, Benny disagreed and said that it was.  However, it did possess bathtubs with lukewarm water, beds filled with mostly non-biting bugs, and plenty of semi-edible food served without a whiff of Catriona. So, all things considered, it could have been worse. After their last week in the woods, none of them complained too much about their lodgings. 

 

            That night, the still-newlywed witcher and historian made love, but in the middle of it, Evie started to cry.

 

            Geralt immediately stopped and looked into her face. “Baby, what’s wrong?”

 

            “Nothing. Please don’t stop, Geralt.  Okay? Don’t stop, please,” she pleaded, the tears running down her cheeks.

 

            He looked at his wife with concern across his face, but eventually he nodded. “Okay,

baby. Okay.”

 

            He’d never felt his wife holding onto him as tightly as she did then.

           

            Afterward, they lay spooned together, with Geralt behind Evie, her wrapped in his arms.

 

“You haven’t been yourself,” he said.

 

            She nodded. “I know.”

 

            “Ever since Tretogor.”

 

            She nodded again.

 

            “Wanna talk about it?”

 

            She was silent for a long time. Geralt held her close and just listened to her heartbeat and her breathing. Eventually, she spoke.

 

            “Maybe not exactly, but…I think I finally know how you felt after Blaviken.”

 

            He hadn’t been expecting her to say that. “How so?”

 

            “You chose what you thought was the lesser evil, and events still turned out badly.  You tried to do the right thing, but people still died and you were run out of town.”

 

            “Yeah.”

 

            “Geralt, not killing those guards in the Tretogor bank…that was the right thing, wasn’t it?”

 

            The witcher paused to collect his thoughts.

 

            “Evie, the more I’m around you, the more you’re rubbing off on me.  And the more that I hear the voice of goodness inside of me – Essea’s voice - telling me not to kill unless it’s absolutely necessary – to not give into the dark voices.  So, yes, I think sparing their lives was the right choice.”

 

            “And, yet, had we not, had we let Roche kill them, they never could have come down in the cavern and killed Roche’s men.  They could have killed you…or Benny, too.”

 

            “That’s one way of looking at it.”

 

            “How do _you_ look at it?”

 

            “Roche should have done a better job of tying them up...so they couldn’t escape. _That’s_ how I look at it.”

 

            She sighed. “Yeah…maybe. But, I just felt so guilty at the time.  I still do. Heck, I still feel guilty about Isaac’s death and all the rest at Kaer Morhen. And hearing Roche say what he did…him accusing me…I felt like their deaths were completely my fault. Then, we found Claude…and I thought that he was dead, too.  And then Benny almost died saving him.” She sighed again. “If another person dies because of me, because of what I’ve done…I think I’ll lose it.”

 

            “And that’s why you’re doubting if we should keep searching for the Sword.”

 

            Evie nodded. “I’m tired of feeling guilty. I don’t want the responsibility anymore. Too many people have already died because of this – because of me…because of all the decisions I’ve made.”

 

            The witcher was quiet – for so long, in fact, that Evie eventually said, “Geralt, are you awake?”

 

            “Yeah.  I’m just thinking because…I want to make sure I say this right.”

 

            “Okay.”

 

            Finally, he spoke. “Do you remember our conversation in Novigrad, right before we entered the sewers, when I told you that I wanted us to run away together?”

 

            “Yes.”

 

            “Do you remember what you told me?”

 

            After a moment, she said, “Yes…I said that finding the Sword was the right thing to do.”

 

            When she didn’t continue, he said, “You said more than that, right?”

 

            She sighed and nodded. “I said that I thought finding the Sword was Essea’s plan.  That he was leading me…us to find it.”

 

            At that point, Geralt crawled over Evie to the other side of the bed so that he could look into her eyes. Their faces were less than a foot apart, and she was staring right back at him.

 

            “Right.  I told you then that I didn’t sense him leading me at all with regards to this sword. And I still don’t.  But, I _know_ he’s telling me to be with you, to do my damnedest to keep you safe.  So, listen to me, when I tell you…that _wherever_ you go, I go.  Whether it’s to Zerrikania – after the Sword, whether it’s giving this Continent the finger and heading to the other side of the ocean, or whether it’s to our home at Corvo Bianco.  Wherever God’s telling you to go, I’m going, too. Do you believe me when I tell you that?”

 

            She nodded.

 

            “So, the crucial question is this – do you still sense him leading you to find this sword? 

 

            She looked him in the eyes and nodded.

 

            “And are you still committed to obeying and following his leading?”

 

            She nodded again. “Yes.”

 

            “Then, I’m sorry, baby…you may not _want_ this responsibility anymore, but you’ve got it.  For whatever reason, he’s chosen you.”

 

            A look of resolve came to her face, but Geralt could still see worry in her eyes.

 

            “But that doesn’t mean you’re gonna have to do it alone.  You, me…Lydial and Barcain and Benny – we’re all in this together. And think about this - if Essea is leading you to do this, then it’s gotta turn out okay, right? I mean, what kind of cruel God would he be if he led you to do something that he knew would end in failure?”

 

            “Right,” she said and then sighed again. “So, you know what this means, don’t you?”

 

            This time Geralt nodded. “Uh huh. Tomorrow morning, we gotta find a boat heading to Zerrikania.”

 

            She looked into his eyes and gave a small smile.  “Thank you, Geralt.  That was just the right thing to say.”

 

            “Hey, I’m just as shocked as you.”

 

            Evie’s smile grew wider, and she shook her head. “I love you, husband.”

 

            “I love you, too, wife.”

 

oOo

 

_Krollas Forest, Redania_

 

            “I will have his head,” Emperor Emhyr said to himself as he looked at the thick, gray smoke filling the entirety of the sky towards the southeast.

 

            After setting loose his magical gargolems in Novigrad, the emperor and his men had sailed north towards the Ostrynos Peninsula, the location of his main force’s amphibious assault.  After destroying the meager defenses on the peninsula, almost the entirety of his army departed for Tretogor while a small unit – of just a hundred men – had stayed behind to await the emperor’s arrival. 

 

Upon setting foot on Redanian soil, Emhyr had calculated that he was four or five days behind the main assault force so he and his contingent had ridden hard for the capital city, hoping to arrive before Radovid’s surrender.  Emhyr wanted the privilege of having the Nordling king bow down to him personally. But, now, seeing the smoke angered him.  He had made it clear to his commander that razing the city should be avoided.  They would need the city’s food rations and shelter if the battle turned into a siege, especially since – being in enemy territory - they would be cut off from their own supply lines.

 

            An hour after first seeing the smoke, Emhyr and his men reached the edge of the forest, finally getting their first glimpse of Tretogor.  His jaw momentarily dropped at the sight.  Virtually the entire city was nothing but still-smoldering ash and ruin.  But, what was most disconcerting was that he couldn’t see or hear a single, living Nilfgaardian soldier anywhere.  In fact, there didn’t appear to be any living souls – neither soldiers nor citizens – left in the city, at all.

 

            “Your Grace,” said his next-in command. “Your orders?”

 

            Emhyr didn’t respond immediately.  Finally, he said, “Take a scout team. Find my army.

 

            Four hours later, the scout team returned and gave their report.

 

            “All of them?” Emhyr asked.

 

            “Yes, your Majesty. We found no survivors.”

 

            The scout commander went on to inform the emperor that, from what he could discern, the Nilfgaardian forces had successfully breached both the city’s walls and the palace itself.  For the palace was where most of the Black One corpses were found.  Of course, most of them were buried under tons of rubble. The high walls and the towering keep itself had been knocked to the ground.

 

Emhyr didn’t know what to say.  The war was lost. For even though Tretogor had fallen, he had virtually no army left.  He had risked everything on this assault.  While he had small garrisons of Nilfgaardian soldiers stationed throughout his empire in the various vassal states, he had sent essentially his entire fighting force – more than ten thousand men – to defeat Radovid and capture the Redanian capital.  Now, the only troops at his immediate command were the hundred or so men he currently had with him.  He knew that he would be crushed by the other Redanian battalions dispersed throughout the north when they eventually rallied against him. In fact, he was surprised that the Redanian troops along the Pontar River had not already arrived to counter-attack.

 

            Emhyr shook his head at the irony.  His invasion plan had worked to perfection except for one unforeseen complication, and it was obvious what that complication was.  It was clear to him – and to all of those men who had seen Novigrad burn – just what was responsible for the disaster before him. He reached into his pocket and slowly pulled out the two, metallic discs.  He had wanted to keep them as a memento of his historic conquest.  The two discs were no longer connected, for he had intentionally separated the magical objects from each other – with the specific purpose of deactivating the gargolems - once he set foot on Redanian soil.  But, obviously, that hadn’t worked because – clearly – the magical creatures were still active and leaving destruction in their wake.  

 

He wondered if that had been Philippa Eilhart’s plan from the beginning – for her monstrous constructs to run amuck.  Whether she actually planned it or not, her creatures had created absolute havoc for both sides, and who knew when – or even if – they’d ever stop. Perhaps she wanted them to rampage through the Northern realms until she finally put a stop to them, demonstrating to the peasants that it was she who possessed the real power of the world and should be their rightful ruler. He could picture her right now, off somewhere safe and biding her time, laughing at both his and Radovid’s downfall. He dropped the two discs to the ground, silently cursing the witch in his mind. He also cursed himself for being so foolish.  Since when had trusting magic-users ever truly turned out well?

 

            Suddenly, his thoughts turned towards survival.  He knew if his enemies back in the empire heard of this outcome, his reign would end quickly. He had to solidify his power.  At his disposal, he had a hundred men who – he believed – were loyal to him. Now, more than ever, he needed that mythological sword.  He wondered just where Malek was.

 

oOo

_Montecalvo_

 

            “Gearrlon? I’ve never heard of it. Are you sure?” asked Philippa.

 

            She, Oran, and one Thurston Gigglethorpe – former department head of history at Oxenfurt Academy – were sitting in her library.  The professor had been there a week examining Geralt’s Essean tome and scribbling copious pages of notes.

 

            “Well, uh, no,” said the professor, pushing his spectacles back up his nose with his index finger.  “This is just…uh…my best assumption…um…based on the data you’ve given me to peruse.” He ended the statement by reaching up and wiping several large beads of sweat from his brow.

 

            Philippa couldn’t believe that this milquetoast professor had actually hired her brother to murder someone.  He seemed afraid of his own shadow.  And he certainly didn’t look impressive, with his skinny frame, weak chin, and thin hair plastered flat to his skull by his, seemingly, constant sweating condition. It was just another reminder not to judge one’s character by appearances.

 

            “Explain to me how you came to this conclusion,” she ordered.

 

            It was a good fifteen minutes later, after a roundabout discourse involving a half-dozen maps and several other history texts that he’d previously begged Philippa to “acquire” from the Oxenfurt Academy library, before Professor Gigglethorpe finished his lesson.

 

            “Well, then,” said the sorceress, “I hope you two have some warm-weather clothes. It appears that we’ll be going on a trip. And Professor, this time, when we take the portal, I highly advise you not the vomit in my direction.”

 

            Gigglethorpe gulped, nodded, and wiped more sweat from his brow.

 

oOo

 

_The Great Sea_

 

            Benny and Geralt were by themselves on the forward deck of _The Master’s Hand_ , the merchant ship on which they’d booked passage in the port city of Cidaris.  Luckily, the cost of the trip hadn’t completely emptied their money pouches, but they had been forced to sell their horses to come up with the payment.

 

The ship sailed exclusively for an import-export company that dealt in exotic spices, specifically from Zerrikania. They’d set sail that morning, and now, the two friends were standing on the starboard side of the ship, resting their elbows on the railing, and watching the sun set behind the western horizon.  

 

            “So…I’ve been meaning to ask you. Did you know what was gonna happen to you in Radovid’s dungeon when you cast that spell?” asked Geralt, glancing over at Benny. 

 

The mage continued looking straight ahead, staring at the scene in front of him. He gave a slight nod.

 

“I knew it was a possibility.  I’m not that powerful a sorcerer, Geralt. You know that. I’d only used that spell one other time, back at Ban Ard, with the aid of a Place of Power.  The same thing happened then, too, but I had a couple other mages there to revive me.”

 

            “Then, what the hell, Benny. Why’d you risk it? He was a complete stranger. You didn’t even know him.”

 

            Benny was quiet for few moments. “Geralt, have I ever told you about my childhood?”

 

            The witcher shook his head. “Nah, we’ve known each other a long time, but you never have. You from a long line of sorcerers?”

 

            Benny glanced over at Geralt and smiled.

 

“Not hardly. I was the eleventh child of Mortimer and Sally Anne Bendiak. Three of them died young, but I still grew up with seven, much older siblings. None of them were magic users.  We were all simple farmers.  And it was a hardscrabble life. When you live on a farm, you start working about the time you learn to talk – even if it’s nothing more than picking weeds.  Everybody’s got to do their part just to survive.”

 

            “Must have been where you got your strong work ethic.”

 

            “Definitely.  It was hard life, but our home was full of love.  Sure, we squabbled like all families, but at the end of the day, we all cared for each other.  Though, to be truthful, I was probably closer to my next-in-line sibling than I was to even mother or father.  In a family that size, it was hard for mom and dad to show love to all the kids all the time.  Like I said, they were just trying to keep us alive. So, my sister, Verna Kate, who was five years older than me, basically raised me.” Benny paused for a moment. “Sorry, I’m getting off-track. Anyway, growing up the youngest of the bunch – and younger by a lot of years - I never felt very useful. I was always the smallest, the weakest, the slowest. I always wished that I could do more to help them.”

 

            He turned his head and looked at Geralt with a sad smile. “And, then, came the day I found out I could do magic.  It set me apart. Made me feel special.  But, more than that, I can remember having dreams of becoming a powerful mage so that I could help out my family.  We basically had no money so the Ban Ard Academy took me in on scholarship. Walking up to that giant castle – as an eight-year-old kid - was one of the happiest _and scariest_ days of my life.”

 

            Geralt smiled. “I bet.  Hell, I was a little scared myself going in there just last month.”

 

            “Yeah, right.” The mage then sighed. “Anyway, I soon found out I wasn’t special at all.  Compared to a lot of my classmates, I was a very weak sorcerer.  My work ethic was strong. I studied hard, but I just didn’t possess the natural ability to wield the Power like so many others did.  Being there kind of reminded me of being back home again – being the weakest, the least useful.  But, I told myself that that was okay.  I was there for my family.  I was going to become the best mage that I could be. I’d specialize in healing and alchemy so that once I graduated, I could go back home and help my parents.  Cure our livestock when they got sick.  Rid our crops of harmful insects. Make our land more fertile, our well-water cleaner.”

 

            “Sounds like a noble plan. Sounds just like you.”

 

            Benny smiled. “Thanks, Geralt. So, many years later, I finally graduated from the Academy.  I headed home so full of pride in my accomplishments.  And so full of hope for how I could help.” The mage paused and sighed again. “Long story short, I never got the chance.  In one of this Continent’s many pointless wars, an invading army put a torch to the farmhouse and barn, destroyed the crops, and killed every member of my family.  And I couldn’t even get revenge for them. It had happened two years before. By the time I got home, the invading army had already been beaten back and defeated.”

 

            Geralt shook his head. “Damn, Benny. I’m sorry.”

 

            He nodded. “So, I turned my horse around and headed back to Ban Ard.  Where I’ve been ever since.  And it hasn’t been a bad life.  I’ve done some good. Healed a lot of illnesses and injuries.  Even saved a few lives.  But, I never felt like I fit in.  The town folk have always kept us magic users at a distance even if they are appreciative of our services.   And my fellow sorcerers…well, to them, I was just always short, fat, magically-weak Benny.”

 

            At that point, he turned and faced his friend. “But these last few weeks have been different, Geralt.  I feel like I finally belong.  But, more than that, I’ve never felt more purposeful in my life than I have since y’all came into my shop last month. I feel like helping in the search for this sword is more meaningful than anything I’ve ever done in my life. And unlike Lydial and Evie – and even now, you – I’m not sure I really believe in Essea. Or any god for that matter. So, I’m not sure I believe that this is part of some grand plan like y’all do, but…that doesn’t matter. I know this is important.  I know that y’all are important. And it feels good to be a part of something important.  And I’m even willing to risk my life for it…and for my friends. And that’s why I did what I did in the dungeon.”

 

            Geralt reached over and clasped his friend’s shoulder.

 

“Benny, I’ve always thought you were special. Ever since you saved my life,” he said with a smile.  “And we’re lucky to have you along with us.  And I’m lucky that I can call you my friend.” The witcher released his grip but continued to look the mage in the eyes. “When this is all over, come to Toussaint with us.  We’ve got a vineyard there, and I’ll put you on staff. We’re gonna need someone with your skills to help us out. Apparently, a fungus attacked our vines last year.”

 

            “Thanks, Geralt. I might take you up on the offer, but…don’t you think you need to consult with your wife first before you start giving out invitations to your home?”

 

Geralt pointed his finger at his friend. “Good call, Benny. Good call.”

 

They both laughed. 

 

“This marriage thing – always thinking of her first – it’s still a bit new and strange.”

 

“I bet.  Speaking of your wife, have you told her about…” Benny asked, eyeballing the witcher’s worthless medallion.

 

“Told Angel about what?” asked Barcain, walking up behind the sorcerer.

 

Benny winced and whispered “Sorry” under his breath.

 

“It’s all right,” Geralt whispered back as he turned to face his brother-in-law.

 

“It’s no big deal.  I’m going to tell her soon – once this is all over - but my medallion no longer works.”

 

He then went on to explain to Barcain how that had happened.

 

“So, it doesn’t sense magic at all anymore?”

 

Geralt shook his head.

 

“Then, you’re right not to tell her.  I guarantee you that, if she found out, she’d want to swap her medallion with yours.  She cares more about your safety than her own.”

 

“I know. But, I care more about hers than mine. And _that’s why_ we’re not going to tell her, right?”

 

Barcain smiled. “No problem. I’m great at keeping secrets.”

 

oOo

 

            Geralt leaned over the bed, gently shook Evie’s shoulder, and whispered softly, “Baby, wake up. I want to show you something.”

 

            She came awake immediately.

 

            “What is it? Is something wrong?” Anxiety was evident in her voice.

 

            “No, relax. It’s okay.  It’s just something that I think you’ll really like.”

 

            Five minutes later, the husband and wife were holding hands and standing on the top deck. Except for a skeleton crew - the captain at the helm, a man high up in the crow’s nest, and a couple others – Geralt and Evie were completely alone under a full moon and shining stars.  Even after a week of sailing, Evie still wasn’t used to just how bright the moon and stars looked each night. And tonight, the moon looked so large and so close that she felt like she could almost reach up and grab it. There was a sturdy wind filling the sails and blowing a few strands of Evie’s hair about.  She raised her hand up to her face and hooked the stray hair behind her ears.  The breeze had also brought a chill to the night air. Geralt saw Evie shiver and wrapped his arm around her, pulling her in tight against his warm body.

 

            “It’s so amazing…and peaceful out here,” remarked Evie. 

 

            “It is,” agreed Geralt, “but I got something even more special to show you. Over here, by the railing.”

 

            They walked over to the side, and the witcher pointed down towards the water’s surface. Evie gasped out loud. 

 

            Swimming alongside of the ship were a half-dozen sea creatures about four to five times the thickness of an average man.  They had sleek, tubular-shaped bodies that easily cut through the water. But the remarkable aspect was that each one emitted a colorful, luminescent glow – similar to when the witcher cast his Quen shield.  Two were shimmering a bright yellow, two others pink, one purple, and the last one orange.

 

“Oh my…Geralt…they’re so beautiful,” she said in awe.

 

“Watch this,” he said, and then he immediately cast a Quen, his body now covered in shimmering orange bolts of energy.

 

A few seconds later, the glow around each sea creature seemed to intensify – as if they were somehow answering the witcher.  And then, suddenly, one of the creatures leapt high out of the water – so high that it was almost eye-level with Geralt and Evie – and then arced back down into the ocean with barely a splash. Evie laughed out loud as several more of the glowing fish followed their companion’s example and jumped into the air.  They kept doing so until Geralt’s Quen Sign eventually disappeared. 

 

“They’re amazing,” Evie said. “Do you know what they are?” she asked, turning to look at her husband.

 

“Well, according to Brother Adalbert’s bestiary, their scientific name is _Delphilumens,_ but our captain says most sailors call them, ‘Divine Light.’”

 

“Really? The ‘light’ part is obvious, but why ‘Divine?’”

 

“Well, you know how superstitious sailors are.”

 

“Yeah, we had to pay them extra to take on me and Nain. They think females on board are bad luck.”

 

“Right. Well, apparently these fellows” – and he nodded toward the glowing sea creatures – “are considered _good_ luck.  There are old tales of Divine Light fighting off krakens and other deadly sea monsters.  Other myths tell of them guiding ships through storms, fog, dangerous, rocky straits. So, sailors started saying that they must be from the sea gods. Sent to protect those with whom the gods were pleased.”

 

“And what do sailors say one must do in order to please the sea gods?”

 

Geralt smiled at his wife. “I don’t know. But, we must be doing something right…cause there they are.”

 

She smiled back at him. “Thank you, Geralt.  I’m glad you woke me. They’re absolutely beautiful. I’ll never forget this as long as I live, and the best part is that I got to share it with you.”

 

She hugged him tightly before eventually turning back to watch the _Delphilumens_ still swimming alongside the ship.

 

“Now, you gotta make a wish,” he said.

 

“What? Why?”

 

“The captain said that if they’re really pleased with you, then you can make a wish, and they’ll make it come true.”

 

“Really?” she asked incredulously.  “He said that?”

 

Geralt smirked. “No. I made it up.” He laughed as she playfully and lightly elbowed him in the gut.

 

“Butcher,” she said, shaking her head.

 

“Hey, it sounded legitimate, right?”

 

“Yeah, no more far-fetched than most fairy-tales.”

 

Evie looked down at the creatures and said, “You know what – I’m going to make a wish anyway.”

 

“That so?”

 

“Yes.  I’ll start my own fairy-tale – of the wish-granting, flying glow-fish. And besides, I think they _are_ good luck. I think Essea sent them to light our way.”

 

Geralt nodded.  “I like the sound of that.  _True_ divine light.”

 

            About ten minutes later, the sea creatures swam away, their luminescence eventually disappearing into the dark depths. Geralt heard Evie audibly sigh once they were completely out of sight.

 

            “Thank you, again, Geralt.”

 

            “For what?”

 

            “For this…for what you said to me in Cidaris...for everything. Obeying Essea…going after the Sword is the right thing, and I needed you to remind me of that.”

 

            “You’re welcome.  I’ll always be here to support you, Evie.” He then bent down and whispered in her ear. “So…what did you wish for?”

           

            Evie looked up into his eyes and smiled. “Well, I can’t tell you that, Witcher. But…let’s go back to bed, okay?” She then began kissing him on his neck before moving up towards his ear.

 

            “Doable,” he said, a smile coming to his face. “Definitely doable.”

 

oOo

 

            It didn’t take long for Geralt and the others to find a routine on the ship.  The witcher, of course, trained every day.  He worked on his physical fitness and also practiced his sword forms.  On the second day, when Barcain saw the witcher performing moves with the sword that he’d never seen before, he asked Geralt if he could train with him.  It wasn’t long until Geralt had Evie, Lydial, and Benny on the deck with him, too. Their training wasn’t extensive, but he did give them some very simple and practical tips if they were to ever find themselves with a sword in their hands and an enemy in their midst. 

 

            Geralt also met with Benny for several hours each day down below decks in Geralt and Evie’s tiny cabin.  Calling it a cabin was a stretch. It was more like a closet, just big enough to fit a bed and two chairs.  But, it was sufficient for what the two men needed, which was practicing magic.  Since having taught himself the new “lightning” Sign last fall – Geralt had decided to call the new Sign Blyx – the witcher was curious to see if he could create any others.  He wondered why the School of the Wolf only taught their witchers the five Signs since, obviously, it was possible to learn more than just those five.  Not for the first time, Geralt wished Vesemir was still around.  He missed the old man – not only for his companionship and dry sense of humor but also for his incredible knowledge.

 

Their routine, however, didn’t just consist of the physical.  They had nightly conversations about everything they knew about Zerrikania – the history, the politics, the culture, and climate.  As the professional historian in the group, Evie invariably led those discussions, but everyone had some kernel of knowledge – or rumor - that they were able to share at some points.  They also questioned the captain and the other sailors on what they knew of the land east of the Tir Torchair Mountains.

 

But, probably more than anything else, they read, re-read, and discussed the Essean tome every day, hoping to glean new pieces of information that might help in their search.  Geralt, himself, spent many hours each day either under Evie or Lydial’s tutelage, trying to become fluent in the obscure variant of the Elder Speech that was used in the tome. It was during one of those reading lessons - one afternoon about two weeks into their trip - that Geralt asked Lydial a question that he’d been pondering upon for a couple days.

 

“Lydial, I keep reading about – and hearing you and Evie talk about – the grace of Essea and the mercy of Essea, and…I guess I’m a little confused. I know what justice is – when we get what we deserve. And I know what mercy is. It’s like forgiveness – when we _don’t_ get what we deserve.  But, I’m not real sure what grace is.  Is it the same thing as mercy? Just two words with the same meaning?”

 

“That’s a great question, Geralt. I would guess that a lot of people probably think that they’re the same thing…because they _are_ very similar. But, I define them differently, and I think that Essea views them differently, too.  I agree with your definitions about justice and mercy, but while mercy is _not_ receiving something that we deserve – something bad, like punishment – grace is actually _receiving_ something – something good – that we _don’t_ deserve. So, for example, I view my daughter, Hannamiel, and my grandchildren as evidence of God’s grace to me.  I didn’t _deserve_ to have a child and grandchildren. Essea didn’t _owe_ me that.  But, he blessed me anyway, in his grace.”

 

Geralt nodded. “Okay, I get it. Mercy – the withholding of deserved punishment. Grace – the giving of undeserved blessings.” 

 

“That’s exactly right,” she answered.

 

The witcher looked up into the blue, afternoon sky and gathered his thoughts for several moments before he finally spoke again.

 

“You know, this is one of the main areas where I have always struggled with the concept of God.” He nodded his head towards his wife who was sitting next to him as he continued.  “I discussed this with Evie in our first real conversion about religion.  I told her that I need a God who is just but who can also somehow pardon my guilt. Who can take care of all the evil I’ve done. But, since mercy and justice are basically impossible to reconcile, then I’ve never been able to see how God could display both attributes. Would _you_ say that Essea is both just and merciful?”

 

“Without a doubt.”

 

“But how can that be? If he forgives us of our wrong doing, then that means he’s not punishing us as we deserve.  And that is _not_ justice.”

 

Lydial nodded. “Geralt, I truly understand your confusion.  Our sacred scriptures say that Essea promises us that, _if we repent_ , then he will adopt us as his children, forgive us of our rebellion against him and accept us into heaven. Of course, the scriptures _also_ say that he is a holy, just God.  What they don’t _truly_ explain, however, is how he’s going to reconcile those two concepts.”

 

Geralt sighed, clearly frustrated. “That’s great. Just great. And here I was thinking that Essea might actually be the God I was looking for.”

 

Lydial held up her hand. “Wait a second, Geralt. I’m not finished.  While it’s true that the writings don’t fully explain how he – a just God – can forgive us, there is one passage that, I believe, clearly hints at it.”

 

“Really?” He sounded more skeptical than hopeful.

 

“Yes. Have you not come across the story of King Altachadh in your readings, yet?”

 

“Hell, Lydial, I don’t remember. All these old, Aen Seidhe names…I can’t keep them all straight.”

 

“Well…do you want to hear about him?” she asked.

 

Geralt nodded and handed her the tome, and less than a minute later, she said, “Here we are. The story of King Altachadh. It’s long so get comfortable.

 

“In the 471st year of Gaineamh’s reign as chief priest of the Aen Seidhe nation, King Altachadh became ruler of the clan of Gealuain in the city of Aranbhaile -”

 

“Oh, come on. Seriously?” interrupted Geralt. “See what I mean?  How can anyone remember all those names?”

 

Evie chuckled. “Shush. Don’t interrupt,” she said with a smile. Geralt just shook his head.

 

Lydial smiled and continued.

 

“Altachadh was the strongest and most powerful elf of the Gealuain clan, and he came to power in the time when the clans in the northern lands turned away from Essea.  The clans of the north spurned Essea’s laws and turned to other gods – gods of their own making. But Altachadh pursued Essea with all his heart. He tore down the alters and poles of the false gods brought into his city. He decreed that Essea and Essea alone would be worshiped in Aranbhaile. He was a righteous king, and he desired a righteous city. Therefore, he followed the Code of Essea and ruled his subjects with the same.

 

“Though Altachadh was a beloved king for he was wise, just, and kind, all was not well in Aranbhaile for the king had no heir. Though he prayed to Essea, Nisha, the wife of King Altachadh, remained without child. For five years, Altachadh had no heir until Essea brought an infant – an orphan – to the royal palace.

 

“Altachadh and Nisha adopted the boy and named him Eirich. Despite receiving love and discipline, Eirich was a rebellious child, and he grew to be a rebellious man who challenged his father.  He squandered his wealth in wild living and brought dishonor to his family. He spurned his father’s God and did unholy acts in the eyes of Essea.  In his drunkenness, he and his friends one night visited an alter to Essea in the city of Aranbhaile. They desecrated the alter, burning it down.  While Eirich’s friends escaped, he was captured and brought before his father, the king.

 

“Essean Code specified that desecration against an Essean altar was an offense against Essea himself.  Ancient tradition called for a punishment of forty-nine lashes against such a crime, and only the most robust could live from receiving such punishment.

 

 “As was the custom, Eirich was stripped of his shirt, and his hands and feet were bound in shackles. As he was being chained to the ‘purification’ wall, with his back exposed, he cursed his father, Essea, and even everyone else present in the royal court.  The officers and attendants in the court looked on in anticipation of Altachadh’s royal decision regarding his rebellious and physically weak son. All knew that forty-nine lashes would kill the young man, and it was also known that, despite Eirich’s rebellion, Altachadh still desperately loved his son.  But, King Altachadh was a just ruler.  The court castigator stood with his whip in hand, awaiting the king’s ruling. King Altachadh’s voice rang out through the royal court.

 

“‘My son, there is no question of your guilt. And since a crime has been committed – a sacred law broken – then punishment for that crime must be paid. The punishment of forty-nine lashes. That is justice. Eirich, I love you, and as your father, I would like to pardon your crimes. But, a pardon would be a travesty of justice, and I will not be unjust king.’

 

“King Altachadh then turned to the court castigator.

 

 “‘On my word, proceed with the punishment.’

 

“King Altachadh then stood, removed his crown, his royal robes and shirt. He descended from his throne and stood in front of his rebellious son.  His large, muscled frame completely covered the frail teenager standing before him.

 

“King Altachadh said to the castigator, ‘You may proceed.’

 

“The whip cracked, and the king took the punishment for his adopted son, the son he loved. His back was flayed, and his blood dripped from his body. After thirty lashes, Altachadh yelled out and fell to his knees.  His court attendants ran to his side, but he spoke to them saying, ‘No. It is not yet finished.’ And he slowly stood again.

 

“After the punishment was fulfilled, Altachadh fell again to the floor, his hands and knees in pools of his own blood. He slowly stood and unshackled his son from the wall, the bloody imprint of his hands left on the metal clasps. 

 

“Altachadh hugged his son and kissed his cheeks.  With tears in his eyes, he spoke to Eirich, ‘My son, the penalty for your crimes has been paid in full. You are free of these chains, and now, I invite you to the banquet hall. Let us all praise Essea that you live and celebrate with a feast of fine food and joyful music.

 

“‘A royal robe for my son!’ ordered the king to his attendants. ‘He will sit with me at my table.’

 

“And so it was that King Altachadh took on Eirich’s pain and bore his suffering. The father was broken for his child’s transgressions, crushed for his iniquities; the punishment that brought the rebel peace was on him, and by the king’s wounds his son was saved.”

 

At that point, Lydial slowly closed the tome and looked at Geralt.  The witcher was simply looking down at the deck in front of him, silent and lost in thought.

 

“When justice and mercy were reconciled,” she eventually stated in a soft voice.

 

Geralt looked up, an unreadable expression on his face. He stared back at Lydial, but he stayed quiet for several, long moments more. Finally, he gave a slight nod of his head.

 

“What happened with Eirich?” the witcher asked Lydial. “Did he go to the feast with his father, change his ways?”

 

Lydial shook her head. “We don’t know.  The tome doesn’t say…but I hope he did. I’d like to believe that seeing such an amazing display of love and sacrifice from his father would cause a son to change, to _want_ to change. But, Geralt, there are some with a heart so calloused that no amount of love will soften it. In fact, for some mysterious reason, an act of grace can actually harden a calloused heart even more. I’ve seen it. It’s as if that person actually resents the kindness that they are being shown. Perhaps, because…they think they don’t need such kindness or…maybe, because they don’t think that they deserve it. I don’t know. I can’t explain it. But as the scriptures say elsewhere, ‘The same sun that melts the ice, hardens the clay.’”

 

Geralt nodded his head again.  “And you think this story – of Altachadh and his son –  is a picture of what God is going to do for us?”

 

Lydial smiled.  “Again, I don’t know. But, I do know that this story was recorded for us – and preserved for us – for a reason.”

 

“So…Essea, himself, is going to pay off the penalty of our wrong doing…of our rebellion against him?  He’s going to - what - pour out his own just punishment on _himself_? How is that even possible?”

 

Lydial laughed, shaking her head.  “You keep asking me questions I don’t have the answer to. But, Geralt, I _can_ answer this - I trust that Essea is just, and I trust that he is loving.  And the reason I believe that is because he has shown himself to be those things over and over again – both to me personally and to the Aen Seidhe nation as a whole.  So, I don’t know _how_ he’s going to do it, but, yes, I believe he somehow will – just like King Altachadh did.”

 

“But…why?  What _kind_ of God would do that?”

 

Lydial looked at the witcher, and a warm smile came to her face. “A God that loves you – that kind.”

 

oOo

 

_Cintra_

 

            “So, you’re really going to take a ship instead of just letting me teleport you?” asked Fringilla.

 

            “That is correct,” answered Malek. “I told you. I’m not going to leave my men – or our horses – behind. I have a strong feeling that I’m still going to need both…for where I’m going.”

 

            The southerners were standing on the docks of the seaside-city of Cintra. Having been on the opposite side of Tretogor from where Philippa’s fire-breathing gargolems had initially attacked, they had miraculously escaped the Redanian capital city with their lives. Afterward, they’d fled south across the Pontar.  It was during their time in Temeria that Malek’s spy network finally – after almost a month of silence – came through again.  He’d been informed that Evie was on a ship heading south. Though the spy was unsure of the historian’s eventual final destination, the undercover agent was adamant that the ship was heading down past the Cape of Matija – the Continent’s most southern point - and into the Southern Sea. So, at that point, Malek had directed his men westward to the first port city that they could reach.

 

He’d booked passage for himself and his men for the capital city of Nilfgaard. He decided that, even if he didn’t know exactly where Evie was headed at the moment, he was going to journey in her general direction.  If his spy reached out to him again in the future with new intelligence, then he and his men would at least already be in the southern part of the Continent.  And if nothing else, he figured that he should travel to his home in the Nilfgaardian capital.   He wanted to head to his rooms in the royal palace and collect a few personal effects that held sentimental value while he still had the chance.  Malek doubted that Emhyr would be on the throne for long, and he knew that it’d be best if he was already gone if and when any usurpers arrived at the palace to execute their coup.

 

Fringilla and Malek were alone of the dock, the rest of his men having already boarded the ship.  She stepped close and looked up at the large man.

 

“In that case…do you have room for one more in your cabin?” she asked.

 

Malek narrowed his eyes at the sorceress for just a moment, but he then nodded. 

 

“You bet.  You’re tiny.  If nothing else, I’ll put you in my pocket.”  

 

oOo

 

            Evie woke in the middle of the night in an empty bed. She called out to Geralt in the dark, but there was no answer. She quickly got dressed, left their small room, and headed up to the main deck of the ship.  It was only a moment after she stepped out into the bright moonlight above that she located her husband. He was sitting on the top step of the stairs that led up to the foredeck of the ship, the Essean tome in his lap and his pipe in his mouth. She walked over to the bottom of the short flight of steps.

 

            “Hi,” she said. “Couldn’t sleep? Nightmares again?”

 

            “No. No nightmares tonight. Just…wanted to come up here and sit for a while.” He then used his hand to wipe off the area next to him. “Join me?”

 

            She walked up the steps and sat down next to him. She breathed in deeply, enjoying the scent of his burning tobacco, and then leaned against his shoulder.

 

            “So, what have you been doing up here – writing a poem for me?”

           

            Geralt could hear the teasing tone of her voice.

 

            “Even if I was, I wouldn’t let you hear it,” he joked back.

 

            “I guess I deserve that. I’m a pretty lousy wife, huh?”

 

            “Nah…you’re the best one I’ve ever had.”

 

            “That so?  You’re not a bad husband yourself.  I’d rank you at least in my top two.”

 

            They both laughed at that.

 

            “So, if no poem, then what?”

 

            “Just wanted to come up here, sit under the stars, and re-read the story of King Altachadh. There were several words that I still didn’t recognize, but since Lydial read it to me this afternoon, I was able to figure things out from the context.”

 

            “Any new thoughts?”

 

            “Just that it’s an incredible story. And incredible to think about God in that way. I keep thinking about what Lydial said. ‘When mercy and justice were reconciled.’ I’m still trying to get my mind wrapped around it completely, but…the more I think about it, the more it makes sense.”

 

            “Yeah…it does. So, now that you know what you know, what’s next?”

 

            Geralt was quiet for moment. “Well, a lot of things. I want to keep reading this book so that I can understand him better. I still want to help you find and destroy the Sword – if that’s his will.  And, after today, I definitely would like to find any more Essean tomes that might be out there.” Then he paused for a moment. “But, right now?  I just want to lay back with my wife and look up at the stars.”

 

            Evie smiled. “That sounds like a great idea.”

 

            So, they laid down next to each other on the top deck of the ship. Geralt put his left hand under his head and stretched out his right arm so that Evie could use it as a pillow.  He wasn’t sure how long it took, but, eventually he could hear his wife’s breathing change as she drifted off to sleep, snuggled up close to him.  But, the witcher stayed awake – contemplating all the thoughts swirling through his mind, listening to the sails gently flapping in the wind, and gazing up at the endless universe above.

 

            Just fifteen feet behind the two lovers, completely unseen and undetected, stood a bald man resting casually against the ship’s railing.  He was a man shrouded in shadows. His black eyes stared at the witcher for the longest time.  Eventually, his gaze slowly shifted to the woman sleeping at the witcher’s side.  After a moment, a sinister, little grin crept upon his face, and as he turned his eyes back toward the witcher, it bloomed into a wide smile.

 

oOo

 

_Azabar, Zerrikania; September, 1273_

 

            A month had passed since _The Master’s Hand_ had left the port of Cidaris. During all of those weeks, Evie had never been able to see land on any horizon.  As majestic and awe-inspiring as the ocean could be, she was getting a bit stir crazy on the ship, and she longed to disembark.  Thus, it was logical that she felt a sense of relief when the captain announced that they would enter the capital city’s harbor later in the day.  However, now that she was actually viewing Azabar with her own eyes, she was filled with wonder and excitement, as well.

 

            The water in the bay was the clearest blue that she’d ever seen.  There were pristine, white sandy beaches lining both sides of the harbor, and about fifty feet from the shore line were undulating sand dunes, out of which sprouted tall, leafy palm trees.  On the beach on her left, behind those trees, were rows of large, expensive looking homes.  It made sense that they looked costly given how popular that locale must be.  She knew that if she lived in the city, she’d love to wake up each morning and look out her window at the scene before her.

 

            On her left - the western side of the city -  was a small, mountain that, where it wasn’t covered with deep, green foliage, was spotted with hundreds of houses made of white and tan stone. At the base of that mountain – the center of the city – was located the harbor and the accompanying warehouse and business districts with countless multi-story buildings.  To the east was a wide river – the Kozemel – that flowed into the Southern Sea.  Further east of the river was the region’s agricultural center, with verdant, irrigated lands stretching on for more than a mile.  Zerrikania was known for its spices, and she would have sworn that she could smell the spicy fragrances in the wind – even though they were still a mile from the harbor.

 

When most people on the Continent thought of Zerrikania, they thought of dry, harsh desert dunes.   And those certainly existed.  Evie knew that as one moved further away from the Kozemel River, the more that the land turned arid and inhospitable.  But here, she thought, here was paradise.  

 

            But, Evie quickly put all those thoughts away.  She reminded herself why she and her loved ones were there, and it wasn’t for a honeymoon or vacation.  As a historian she was aware of what was, most likely, the most important location in the city, and it wasn’t the beaches or mountains or river-side gardens.  The first place that she’d need to find was Azabar’s main library. 

 

oOo

 

Philippa had been in Azabar for two weeks, spending that time making very discreet inquiries.  Resting out on the balcony of her luxury suite in the finest hotel in the city, she now believed that, perhaps, those inquiries had finally paid off.  On this sweltering day, the sorceress was sipping a cool, minty beverage, and enjoying both the refreshing breeze coming off the Southern Sea and the shade provided by the balcony’s awning. Through her tinted glasses, she inspected her guest, who was sitting, as still as a statue, on the opposite side of small table.  In the most basic sense, her guest looked similar to most Zerrikanians, possessing the bronze skin and thick, black hair that was typical of the people who lived east of the Tir Torchair Mountains.

 

However, there were also some major and vitally important differences.  Peering back at Philippa were a pair of cat-like eyes, and around the neck, was a chain that held a silver medallion. Atypical of most witchers, however, there were no twin swords attached to this witcher’s back.  A four-foot long staff lay across the monster-slayer’s lap.  Philippa had no doubt it was no ordinary staff.  Finally, the witcher broke the silence.

 

“Word has come to me that you’re in need of someone with my skills.”

 

The witcher spoke the Common language with a bit of an accent and with a clearly feminine voice.  Both made sense. The former because, while most Zerrikanians could speak Common, it wasn’t their mother-tongue.  The latter made sense because this witcher was indeed a woman.

 

Jezrai, of the witcher School of the Scorpion, was a striking figure. Though not classically beautiful, she possessed a quality from which others could not avert their stares.  She never smiled, but when she sneered, her teeth shone bright against her bronzed skin, and her straight nose was only marred by a scar that ran across it and down onto her left cheek. Her thick, black hair was long and braided and was currently draped over her left shoulder. She had a dark-blue, crescent-shaped tattoo that framed her right eye.  Philippa could see another tattoo consisting of a row of runic symbols on the witcher’s neck.

 

Jezrai was as tall and broad-shouldered as most men, with long, lean muscles that bulged against the tight-fitting, light-weight armor that she wore. She could easily crush a man between her thighs. She was equally exotic, powerful, and deadly.

 

            “Indeed,” answered Philippa. “I need a local – someone who knows the customs, the history, and the land. Someone who-”

 

            “There are hundreds of locals who know those things,” Jezrai interrupted. “But, you ask for someone with my talents, so…let’s cut to the heart of it, shall we? Just what – or who – do I need to kill? And then, we can discuss my price.”

 

            “Oh…I do believe that we’re going to get on smashingly well,” remarked Philippa with a smile.

 

            She reached into a pocket, pulled out a large sapphire, and placed it on the table between them.

 

            “This is the first part of the payment.  If my suspicions are correct, then it is highly likely that a certain white-haired witcher will be making his way to Azabar.  You are to watch for him.  This gemstone is buying a month of your time. Even if he never arrives, you may obviously keep it.”

 

            “You say ‘first part of payment.’ What is the second part?”

 

            “Two more gemstones of equal quality – after you kill him,” Philippa replied.  “I’d do it myself, but, as I said, he may not even show up here, and my attention is required elsewhere.”

 

            Jezrai’s gaze shifted between Philippa and the large gemstone on the table.

 

            “So, do you agree to this arrangement?”

           

            The witcheress nodded.

 

            “Excellent,” purred the sorceress. “Shall we drink to our partnership?”

 

 


	18. Chapter 18

_Azabar, Zerrikania_

 

            “I’ve never, in my life, seen a city this crowded.”

Even though the witcher was walking right beside her, Evie had felt the need to raise her voice just to be heard over the din of noise coming from all around – chickens squawking, dogs barking, merchants yelling, even a random person repeatedly banging two pans together for no discernable reason.  She was also grasping tightly to Geralt’s arm with one hand while firmly pressing the other hand over the satchel at her hip. She was wary of pick-pockets and cut-purses, and she had already been jostled by passers-by more times than she cared to count. The five Westerners – their ship’s captain had told them that’s how the Zerrikanians would refer to them - were walking through the stone-covered streets of the warehouse district heading towards some lodging on the other side of town that the sailor had suggested. When Geralt had told him how much money they were more or less able to spend, the captain gave a short laugh and told them that they had two choices – The Golden Dragon Inn near Dreamer’s Row or sleeping on the docks.

“The Golden Dragon Inn…Dreamer’s Row,” Benny had remarked with a nod and a smile. “Those actually have a rather pleasant sound to them.”

Upon hearing that, the captain had guffawed.

“My friend, you’d be wiser choosing the docks. Enjoy your stay in Azabar,” he’d said before chuckling again and walking away.

As Evie walked through the city, surveying her surroundings with a historian’s eye, she quickly recognized that the Zerrikanians seemed to only have three main style of dress. She hated to make assumptions, but she figured the style of clothing was equated to their social class.  The most common ensemble was worn by what she assumed to be the ordinary, working-class citizen.  Almost all wore some variation of a light weight, white or cream-colored cotton shirt with short sleeves ending at the elbow. In addition, their trousers were also made of a light-colored cotton, and almost all had sandals on their feet. The women dressed the same except for a few touches of fashion. Some had colorful stitching in their blouses. A few wore shirts of either pale blue or pink instead of the standard white, and the occasional, sheer scarf could be seen on their heads or around their necks.

 

A second group, which Evie believed to clearly be Azabar’s wealthy, stood out from the rest with their very colorful ensembles.  They were draped in fine silk and other equally high-quality fabrics dyed in deep reds, bright blues, metallic golds, and dark purples.  Both the men and women of this group all wore expensive jewelry, made of gold, silver, and gemstones. The women styled their hair in complicated braids or piled high on their heads, and the men – if they had facial hair – all kept their mustaches and goatees trimmed and waxed.

 

But, it was the third group that had Evie the most on edge. In addition to its mythological golden dragons, warm climate, and exotic spices, Zerrikania was also known for its fierce warrior-swordsmen.  She had only seen a few of them so far, but there was no mistaking them, with sabers at their sides and tribal-looking tattoos covering their muscular shoulders and arms.  Even their faces sported multiple tattoos, which made them look quite savage.

 

They also dressed quite differently than everyone else.  They did wear armor, but Evie thought initially that, frankly, it wasn’t very practical – especially from what she’d seen of the female warriors’ armor.  Half of their body wasn’t even protected. They had knee-high, leather boots and leather body armor covering both the front and back of their torso, but their arms were completely exposed and their muscular thighs were only covered by a short skirt. It just didn’t seem to offer much protection.  The male warriors weren’t protected any better as they wore the same style of gear except that they had cotton trousers instead of the skirt.

 

However, when Evie thought more on it, she could actually see the benefit of wearing such a small amount of armor despite the lack of protection it offered. Given how hot it was in the region, she assumed it would be much more comfortable than, say, what Geralt was currently wearing.  In fact, she didn’t know how the witcher wasn’t boiling in his specially-treated, leather armor that completely covered him from neck to toe.  Another factor was that the Zerrikanians’ very light-weight armor would also aid them in terms of quickness and agility.  Despite those obvious benefits, there was a part of Evie that thought that the warriors – both the men and the women – also wore the skimpy armor because they were simply interested in showing off their physiques.  Though, Evie had to admit – she couldn’t really blame them. They were impressive.

 

As they continued making their way through the crowd, two random female warriors were on the other side of the street, walking in their direction. Upon seeing the sword on Geralt’s hip, they smoothly slid their hands near the hilt of their own.  Behind his tinted glasses, the witcher easily saw their hands move, but he could tell it was simply done out of habit – as a precaution. He knew an actual attack wasn’t imminent just from the way they walked and carried themselves. After the warriors passed, neither even bothered to turn and give the White Wolf a second glance. Normally, they would have been quite interested in a witcher from one of the Western schools, but Geralt had chosen to disguise himself – tinted glasses, no swords on the back, scars magically concealed, and his medallion under the shirt – prior to disembarking from the ship. He knew he’d made a wise choice. He had no desire to be the object of interest by which some foolhardy warrior wished to test his or her mettle.

 

“Have you ever seen a Zerrikanian warrior in action?” Evie asked Geralt after the two warriors had passed.

 

Immediately, images flashed through Geralt’s mind – a memory from many years back with Villentretenmerth and his two, female body-guards.  He had, indeed, seen one of the warriors in action – in a _very_ intimate way. The witcher successfully kept his face stoic and simply nodded at his wife.  But, he didn’t look at her.  He told himself it was because he needed to keep his eyes on his surroundings.

 

“Are they as good as it’s said?”

 

Again, Geralt kept his face neutral despite the urge to smirk. He simply nodded again.

_“Get ahold of yourself,”_ the witcher thought. _“You shouldn’t let those memories come to mind. You’re married now, A-hole. How would you feel if she was thinking about some naked guy from her past right now?”_

 

“Better than you?” she asked, bringing him out of his thoughts.

 

“Pardon?”

 

“The Zerrikanian warriors – can they fight better than you?”

 

“Don’t know. Never actually crossed blades with one. Their sword skills are legendary, but they’d be hard-pressed to beat me. My Signs would be tough for them to handle.”

 

“Well, let’s not find out who’s better, okay?”

 

“Hey, you know me. I never go looking for trouble.”

 

“I know…but, it does seem to find you.”

 

The witcher nodded. “No doubt.”

 

While Geralt was doing his best to detect any danger around them – and to also keep images of nude Zerrikanian women out of his head - it was an impossible task given the overcrowded city streets and markets.  Even if he had turned around and looked behind him, he never would have noticed the two, male Zerrikanian warriors blending in with the mass of humanity. The two warriors who had been following them since they had stepped off _The Master’s Hand_ and onto the Azabar docks.

 

oOo

 

            “The Golden Dragon? More like the Dragon’s Bunghole,” said Barcain while gazing at the front of the dilapidated inn. “And what the hell is that smell? It’s making my head spin.”

 

            “You, too?” asked Lydial. “I thought it was the heat getting to me,” she said, as she looked up at the scorching sun. It wasn’t even noon yet.

 

            “I’m not 100% sure because I’ve never actually smelled it myself,” said Evie, “but, based on my research, I think it’s papaver fumes.”

 

            “What’s papaver?” asked Lydial.

 

            “A very powerful drug, derived from the papaver plant,” answered Benny. “It makes fisstech seem like nothing more than a sugar pill.  It can be used in palliative care, to reduce pain.  But, it also causes intense euphoria and, in large doses, extreme disorientation and drowsiness.”

 

            “Hence the name Dreamer’s Row,” said Evie.  “It must be nearby.”

 

            “If it’s this obvious, why don’t the authorities do something about it?” asked Lydial.

 

            “Because, here, it’s not illegal to grow, sell, or use,” answered Evie. “And it’s not just for the low-class. Even the upper-crust partake in it.  It’s a huge business.  In fact, if what I read was accurate, the local government is actually the city’s biggest producer of it. It brings an incredible amount of money into their coffers.”

 

            “Speaking of money, we have got to do something about _our_ money situation,” said Barcain, still sniffing the air. “And maybe find other lodging – on the other side of town.

 

            “Geralt,” said Evie, “what do you think? Should we try to find someplace else?”

 

            “You’re asking the wrong guy,” he answered. “It looks fine to me, but…on the Path, a rat-filled barn is considered a luxury so…” The witcher shrugged at his wife.

 

            “Alright,” Evie said with a nod. “We’ll stay here for tonight. Maybe tomorrow we can find something better. Hopefully, we’ll be leaving town for Gearrlon as soon as possible anyway.”          

 

oOo

 

After checking into The Golden Dragon, Evie asked the innkeeper for the location of Azabar’s best library.  The woman suggested that they head to the Azabar Academy, located at the base of the small mountain, Mount Omaan, on the western side of town. 

 

It was early afternoon before they found, first, the Academy and then the library itself.  When they finally passed through the front doors, Evie felt a calmness wash over her – a calmness that she hadn’t felt since stepping off of the ship. She was indeed fascinated by Azabar and its unique culture and history, but its loud, crowded, chaotic and dangerous streets frayed her nerves.  While it was true that her profession did take her into the field on occasions, most of her time was spent in the quiet and peaceful indoors reading and doing research. The library had the same odor that libraries all over the Continent possessed – a combination of parchment, old ink, and dust that just soothed the historian’s nerves. She was in her comfort zone.

 

Evie, feeling in control, led the group to the main desk and spoke with the librarian.

She introduced herself and then asked if the librarian spoke the Common language.  While Evie was quite proficient in the Quaruntithi language – the tongue from which all eastern languages, including Zerrikanian, were derived – she wasn’t totally fluent in it and preferred to speak in Common if she could.  After discovering that the librarian did, indeed, speak Common, she informed him of what she was searching.

 

            “Gearrlon? My, my, that is quite the popular subject recently,” said the gray-haired, bespectacled librarian.

 

            “What do you mean by that?” asked Geralt, suspicion in his voice.

 

            “Well, while the tales of Gearrlon are well known in Azabar, they are really nothing more than popular ghost stories. Nothing more than fantasy. Those who actually do serious research into the lost city are very few.  However, just a fortnight ago, another came here asking for texts on Gearrlon.  A man –  a Westerner, like yourselves, in fact.”

 

            Now, the entire group was suspicious.

 

            “Do you remember his name by chance?” asked Evie.

 

            “Oh, I’m sorry, but no.  I could definitely pick him out of a crowd if I saw him again, but the name eludes me.  My humblest apologies.  But, if it would please you, I _can_ lead you to the shelves you seek. In fact, I _must_ escort you there as access to them is restricted.”

 

oOo

 

            “Are you sure they are the Westerners that the Eilhart witch wants dead?” asked Jezrai as she was sharpening her blades.  She was sitting on the floor of her small home, cross-legged with her weapon in her lap.

 

            “Positive, my love,” answered Nebo – short for Nebomazzalar. “Tiki overheard them discussing Gearrlon. It must be them, don’t you agree?”

 

            “Yes, most likely,” she said. “Speaking of Tiki – where is he? Why did he not return with you?”

 

            “He is following them to the Azabar Academy. I told him that I would meet him there after informing you of our discovery.”

 

Then, a small smile came to Nebo’s face at the thought that he was here with Jezrai and not the other way around. Both he and Tiki – short for Tikimazzalar - were Jezrai’s lovers, and both became slightly jealous when one was in her presence alone. It was only the two brothers’ strong love for each other that allowed them to share the Scorpion witcheress.  They would have been too tempted to kill any other man that Jezrai chose to bed. Though, the truth was that she’d had occasional sexual encounters in the past with both men and women, and the two brothers had always wisely chosen to keep their swords sheathed.  They knew better than to cross their lover by killing one her temporary play-things.  As skilled as they were with their swords, they knew they stood little chance to survive if she unleashed all of her fury against them.

 

            “And just how do you know where they were going?”

 

            “After they left the inn, I spoke with the innkeeper. I was persuasive. She informed me that they asked her about the best library in town.”

 

            “I’m pleased, Nebo,” said Jezrai, finally looking up from sharpening her blades. She then stood and kissed him deeply.  “Now, go to Tiki. Come back when they return to The Golden Dragon.” She kissed him again. “Tonight, we will earn the other half of my fee.”

 

oOo

 

            “Oh, my…oh, my,” said the clearly upset librarian. “This is very disturbing.”

 

            After coming to the shelves in question, they’d found that all the texts on Gearrlon were missing.

 

            “And you’re sure they weren’t checked out?” asked Evie.

 

            “Oh, goodness, no. The texts in this area of the library cannot leave the building,” he answered. “Oh dear, what will the chancellor say?” the librarian asked himself under his breath. Then, he started pacing back and forth mumbling to himself.

 

            “Hey,” interjected Geralt, getting the librarian’s attention. “I’m sorry for your distress and all, but could this man – this Westerner – have stolen the texts.  I mean, you said that he’s the last to have asked about them, right?”

 

            “Well, yes – I mean, no,” said the librarian. “I mean, yes, he was the last to have read them, but he couldn’t have stolen them.  Notice the guards?” he asked, pointing to two armed men standing near the door of the restricted area. “All must have their bags and persons checked before leaving this room.”

 

            “Well,” said the witcher, “they walked out of here somehow.”

 

He then proceeded to closely inspect the shelves and floor where they were standing.  It was useless, though.  The stone floors of the library were too clean to reveal any clue to follow, and when he smelled the air, he couldn’t detect any unusual odor.

 

            As Geralt was busy with his sleuthing, Evie asked the very distressed librarian a few more questions.

 

            “Are there any more libraries in Azabar – personal or public - that might have texts on Gearrlon?”

 

            “No, no…not that I’m aware of.  This is the only public library with those specific texts.  Now, there are many wealthy citizens in Azabar, with extensive private collections. While I am familiar with many of them, I am not privy to the contents of all, but I have not even heard rumors of a private collection of Gearrlon texts. They are impossible to come by.”

 

            “Forgive my ignorance, but why is that exactly?” asked Evie.

 

“But…I thought you knew.  The city-state of Gearrlon cannot be found.  It has been lost for nearly a thousand years.”

 

“Lost? What the hell does that mean? How do you lose a city?” asked Barcain.

 

“I cannot say. At some point, it was simply wiped from the map.  Many have tried to find it over the centuries, of course, but to my knowledge, none have found it.  In fact, most who venture out, never return.  Hence, the genesis of the ghost stories of Gearrlon.”

 

“Fantastic,” said Benny under his breath.

 

“So, no one knows where it is…or was?  Your now-stolen texts didn’t give its location?” Evie asked.

 

“To be honest, I’ve never actually read them.  It’s my understanding that they mostly told of Gearrlon’s history – or myths, depending upon one’s perspective.  While the texts did provide a general idea of where the city was located, they gave no specifics.  As I said, many have tried to find it. They don’t return.”

 

“No one’s come back?” asked Evie.

 

“Well, there is one who claims to have found the city, but…I’m even hesitant to mention him. He is…well, he is not stable. All consider his tales the imaginings of a fractured mind.”

 

Evie sighed deeply in frustration.  It seemed they were hitting one obstacle after another.

 

“And let me guess – you don’t know this man’s name or where to find him, do you?”

 

“Oh, no…on the contrary. He is a former professor of antiquities at Azabar Academy. And I am fairly certain I know exactly where you can find him…almost every night.”

 

oOo

 

            The sun had set, but the night air still hadn’t cooled, and heat radiated upward off the city’s stone streets.  To make matters worse, as the five of them approached the street corner leading into Dreamer’s Row, the stench of papaver grew thicker.  The drug’s fumes seemed to be acting as a blanket over the entire street. It was an oppressive combination, thought Evie, as she looked into the darkened alley. She’d been in some rough neighborhoods before in her life, but this place made The Bits in Novigrad look like a stroll through the quaint streets of Beauclair.

 

            The helpful librarian had told them that, several years past, Azabar Academy’s former professor of antiquities, Kandhal Uziraiha, had led a large, heavily-funded expedition of colleagues, students, and other adventure-seekers into the desert in a search for Gearrlon.  Several weeks later, the professor stumbled out of the desert and back into Azabar all alone.  He was immediately admitted to the hospital to take care of his physical ailments.  However, his mental and emotional wounds weren’t so easily healed.  The tales he told of Gearrlon were non-sensical and utterly unbelievable.  Everyone began to suspect that the professor had simply lost his mind out in the desert.  Soon, Uziraiha discovered that only the powerful effects of papaver could calm his disturbed and deranged psyche.  Unfortunately, said the librarian, the drug eventually dug its claws into the professor, and in time, he lost all interest in his profession, family, and friends. It was rumored that, like almost all who dallied with the drug, Uziraiha had been caught in the spider’s web of the papaver dens and could be found down on Dreamer’s Row every night.  The sad tale of Professor Uziraiha had served as a warning. No one had ever attempted to locate Gearrlon again.

 

            “What’s the plan?” asked Benny. “Looks like there’s close to a dozen buildings on the street.  Probably all of them are papaver dens.”

 

            Dreamer’s Row was lined with dark and depressing, two-story structures on both sides of the street.  And as a fitting metaphor, the street seemed to terminate in a dead-end.

 

            “I’d like to get out of this dung heap as quickly as possible.  My head’s already getting foggy,” said Barcain. “So, I say we split up.   That’ll allow us to find this guy faster. Geralt can handle himself so that leaves me with Nain and Angel with Benny. I figure-”

 

            “You’re out of your damn mind,” interrupted Geralt. “There’s not a chance in hell Evie’s going into one of those dens with just Benny.” He then turned to Benny. “No offense.”

 

            “Absolutely none taken. And, frankly, I agree,” said the mage. “I’m not entering any of them with just Evie…no offense to Evie.”

 

            “I honestly don’t want to go into any of them, no matter who’s with me,” said Lydial.  “I’m starting to feel woozy just being out here in the streets. I can’t imagine what I’d feel like if I went inside one of those places.”

 

            “Look, I should be the only one who enters any of the dens,” said Geralt. “With my mutated metabolism, this stuff won’t affect me near as much or near as fast as it will you.  And I can be in and out real fast.  I’ll go in, Axii everyone in the joint, and find out quickly if he’s in there or not.  And if not, we’ll move on to the next one.”

 

            “And what are we supposed to do?” asked Barcain.

 

            “Stay outside in the fresh air – _relatively_ fresh air - and watch each other’s backs,” answered the witcher. “There’s safety in numbers.”

 

            Barcain shrugged. “Alright.”

 

            Geralt assumed Evie would protest him going in alone, but like everyone else, she too saw that his plan was the wisest choice. She had no desire to step inside one of the papaver dens as, like the rest, her brain was already feeling the effects of the fumes.

 

oOo

 

_Korath Desert_

 

“Congratulations, Professor,” said Philippa.

 

            She could see nothing but empty desert dunes around her, but her magic detected evidence that her eyes could not.

 

            “You seem to have finally found it. There’s Power here, somewhere nearby.  I can sense it.”

 

            “Well…um…yes. It was, uh, simple really. Just a matter of…um…reading the texts and…uh, you know…following the clues,” said Gigglethorpe as he clutched one of the Azabar Academy books in his hands.

 

            “Indeed. You’re quite the detective.  I only had to teleport us across this desert seven times until you guessed the correct location,” she replied sarcastically.

 

            “Well…you know…archeology is not always-”

 

            “Shut up, Gigglethorpe,” instructed the sorceress. “I’m tired…and tired of your prattling.”

 

            “Uh…yes…okay.” After he paused, he asked, “What will we do now?”

 

            “Now, we’ll rest…until I recover magically.  Then, I’ll head back to Azabar and teleport the others here.”

 

            “Yes, that, uh, does seem like-”

 

            “Gigglethorpe, don’t make me silence you.”

 

            The professor gulped, nodded, and wiped the sweat from his brow.

 

oOo

 

            The witcher opened the door and, as expected, fumes poured out into the night air.  He dilated his pupils as wide as he could and then crossed the threshold, not bothering to shut the door behind him.  This was the seventh papaver den he’d entered in the last hour, the first six obviously not entertaining Professor Uziraiha. Though he’d had no success yet, he did, at least, learn one fact about the former teacher in the second establishment he’d visited. Down on Dreamer’s Row, the man was simply known as Uzi.

 

            Geralt had been correct about his witcher metabolism fighting off the effects of the drug’s vapor.  Had the other four spent the last hour in the papaver dens as he had, they’d be passed out in the street right now.  Even with his mutated body’s best efforts to resist the powerful drug, he’d still felt the need to drink down a White Honey potion prior to entering this seventh den.  Luckily, it had worked as he’d hoped and cleared both his system – and most importantly his brain – of the euphoric and delirious effects.

 

            He walked up to the counter and spoke with the attendant, who like all the other den workers he’d met that night was wearing a simple mask over his nose and mouth.

 

            “Looking for Uzi,” said Geralt. “He here?”

 

             “And who you be?” asked the attendant in a thickly accented effort at speaking in the Common tongue.

 

            “His long-lost brother.”

 

            “You no look like brother.”

 

            “Yeah, I know.  We’ve got different dads. Now, is he here or not?”

 

            “Customer privacy - very important here.”

 

            The witcher already knew where this was heading, having gone through it three times already with other attendants trying to swindle money from him.  He didn’t even bother with continuing the conversion.  He just signed an Axii at the attendant.

 

            “Is Uzi here?”

 

            “Yes, Uzi here.”

 

            _“Finally,”_ thought the witcher. The answer he’d been looking for all night.

 

            “Excellent. Now, take me to Uzi.”

 

            “Yes, yes.  I take you to Uzi.”

 

            “Appreciate it.”

 

            As he followed the attendant down the dark, smoke-filled hallway, he suddenly heard faint singing coming from a room up ahead on his right.  It was a song that he’d heard before, and it sent a chill through his spine.  The attendant walked past the open doorway, obviously leading Geralt further into the den, but the witcher stopped at the threshold and peered into the dark room. 

 

            “His smile fair as spring, as towards him he draws you. His tongue sharp and silvery, as he implores you…” sang a clearly doped-up papaver user. 

 

He was slurring the words, but the song was unmistakable to the witcher.  Those lyrics and that tune were as seared into his brain as the brand had been on his face. At the memory, the witcher’s hand automatically came up and touched his left temple – just to confirm that the mark was no longer there. Geralt peered deeper into the room, trying to see which denizen was singing the words. But, there were dozens of bodies lying about on the floor, on mattresses, on couches, and the witcher couldn’t pinpoint the origin of the voice. It seemed to be echoing off the walls of the room.  That’s when he heard another voice to his left.

 

            “Coming?” asked the attendant, standing in the hallway, facing the witcher.

 

            Geralt nodded. “Yeah,” he said as the voice inside of the room kept singing.

 

            “…he’ll snare you in bonds, eyes glowin’ a fire, to gore and torment you, till the stars expire…”

 

            As the witcher turned to follow the attendant, something caught his attention in his peripheral vision.  He jerked his head to the left and instinctively reached for his sword.  He could have sworn that he’d just seen a very familiar – and unwelcome - figure with a sinister grin and a shaved pate staring out of the shadows at him.  But when he looked, there was nothing and no one there.  Just an empty, shadowy corner.  He lowered his hand back to his side and shook his head a couple of times, thinking that the papaver fumes must already be affecting his mind again, and then he turned to follow the attendant.

 

oOo

 

            Jezrai, Nebo, and Tiki had been discreetly observing the five Westerners since they’d left The Golden Dragon over an hour before, just after dusk.  Despite the fact that he didn’t wear his twin swords on his back, Jezrai easily picked out the witcher in the group.  Even if she hadn’t known he had white hair, he would have been easy to spot compared to the other four simply from the way he walked – like a predator.  Good, she thought.  It had been a while since she’d had a challenge. And it would make collecting the other two gemstones from the Eilhart witch all the more satisfying.

 

oOo

 

            As the night dragged on, Evie’s anxiety increased along with the darkness. By that point in the evening, there was very little illumination along Dreamers’ Row. Not only because there was very little moon light penetrating down into the street but also because all of the dens boarded up their windows to keep the sunlight out during the day, which also meant that any candlelight from within the buildings couldn’t shine out into the street at night. However, having her three companions next to her alleviated some of her fear and strengthened her courage.  The four of them stood in a tight semi-circle, with their backs to the papaver den, facing out into the shadowy street. 

 

            Every time someone entered the Row and began walking in their direction, all four of them tensed and put their hands on their respective weapons.  Then, they’d all exhale deeply upon seeing the person enter one of the papaver dens.  So far, people had only been entering the dens. None had been seen leaving.  After a while, Evie just decided to keep her crossbow in hand instead of returning it to its carrier on her back. At first, she felt a little silly – letting the paranoia get the best of her – but when she saw that Barcain still had his sword unsheathed and that Lydial was grasping two bombs on her bandolier, she realized that it wasn’t just her.  Maybe it wasn’t paranoia.  They were just expecting the worst.  Given what they’d all gone through in the last three months, that was actually probably just good, common sense.

 

oOo

 

            “You Professor Uziraiha?” asked the White Wolf. 

 

Uzi removed the papaver pipe from his mouth and stared at the witcher with semi-glassy eyes. He was lying on a chaise lounge in a room with a few other papaver aficionados. 

 

            “I knew you’d come for me eventually,” he said, in slightly slurred Common.

 

            “The hell you talking about? You know me?” asked Geralt.

 

             Uzi slowly shook his head. “But you want to know about Gearrlon, don’t you?”

 

            The witcher nodded. “I do.”

 

            Uzi continued to shake his head. “I’m not going back. Kill me now if you want to, but I’ll never go back.”

 

            “Not going to kill you. And I’m not asking you to go anywhere. Just want you tell us how to get there.”

 

A small, sad smile came to Uzi’s face. “You’ll die. They all died. And you’ll die, too.”

 

oOo

 

            The witcheress was hidden in the darkness of Dreamer’s Row, standing in a narrow alley between two papaver dens.  Though the sun had set well over an hour before, she had waited until thick darkness had overtaken the city. 

 

            She sensed her two soldiers just behind, and she spoke in a low voice.

 

“Remember - you may kill any of the four outside,” said Jezrai to Nebo and Tiki. “But, the white-haired witcher is mine. Understood?”

 

            “Yes, my love,” they both answered in whispers.

 

            She gave a short nod of the head and stepped out into the street with Nebo and Tiki fanning out on each side of her, and then they began walking slowly towards the Westerners a half a block down.

 

oOo

 

            “He’s been gone longer than usual,” said Evie.

 

            “Maybe that’s good news,” replied Benny. “It might mean that the professor is in there.”

 

            “Yeah, I hope so. I-”

 

She suddenly stopped midsentence as she saw three people approaching.  She wasn’t sure why, but something about that didn’t sit right with her. Then, it dawned on her. Every other person that they’d seen come into the Row that night had been by themselves.  But, here was a group of three.  That was an oddity.  

 

            The papaver den they were in front of was at the end of the Row. Geralt had checked all the dens on the right side of the street, and they were in the process of going back up the other side.  She noticed that the three individuals still had not stopped to enter any of the other dens.  It appeared that one of the dens at the end of the street was their final destination.

 

            “Be alert,” said Barcain.  “Three approaching.”

 

            Evie watched as the three strangers kept coming closer and closer.  When they were ten feet away, Evie could see that two of them carried blades on their hips.  Then, suddenly, Evie felt the medallion on her neck twitch.

 

            “Danger!!!” she screamed at the top of her lungs and immediately brought her crossbow up, aiming at the person nearest to her.  Before she’d even pressed the trigger, the three strangers were already moving, weapons in their hands.

 

oOo

 

            Geralt wanted to get the professor out of the den and into some fresh air, but Uzi politely declined the witcher’s offer to speak elsewhere.  The White Wolf was just about to use his Axii Sign on the Zerrikanian, when he heard a scream coming from out in the street, immediately followed by the sound of a bomb detonating. 

 

            He rushed out of the room and back down the hall towards the front door, unsheathing his steel sword as he ran.  When he got to the closed front door, he turned the knob and pulled, expecting it to open as easily as it had when he’d first entered the establishment.  But, it wouldn’t budge.  He looked closely at the door but saw no locks. What the hell was going on, he thought.

 

            He pulled against the door again, this time with all his might, but it still didn’t open.  Suddenly, he heard more shouting and explosions coming from the other side.

 

            He immediately took one step back from the entrance and then signed the most explosive Aard that he could, blowing the door into pieces. The shards and broken planks of wood flew out into the street, followed a moment later by the witcher himself.

 

oOo

 

Evie’s witcher medallion – sensing the magic in Jezrai’s - had saved them. Without its warning, the four Westerners would have been cut down by the witcheress and the two Zerrikanian warriors in a matter of seconds. However, it only saved them temporarily. They were now in a literal fight for their lives.

 

Immediately after Evie yelled out, Benny cast his bright-light spell at the attackers, momentarily blinding them. As they shielded their eyes, Evie fired her crossbow and Lydial tossed two bombs in quick succession at the Zerrikanians. By luck, one of the bombs was a Dancing Star, and when it exploded, it singed all three of the attackers, and one of them started screaming as his upper body caught on fire, the flames lighting up Dreamer’s Row. As he was thrashing about on the street, trying to put out the flames, Evie tried to quickly re-cock her crossbow, Barcain swung his sword, and Lydial threw two more bombs in the attackers’ direction. 

 

After finally getting her crossbow armed again, Evie looked up to see chaos around her. She watched her brother parry his attacker’s blade, but the second thrust came quicker than Barcain could handle, and he was slashed across the chest.  She saw the Zerrikanian moving in closer to finish him off, and she knew she didn’t have time to aim properly.  She brought the crossbow up to her hip and pressed the trigger.  She heard a cry of pain as her bolt pierced the attacker’s torso, sinking into his chest just below the right armpit.

 

Out of the corner of her eye, she saw a figure approaching and turned to meet it face-on.  Her eyes widened in shock as she saw a witcher’s Quen shield shimmering around her attacker’s body and flames reflecting off of cat-like witcher eyes. Evie knew she was going to die.

 

The witcheress lunged towards Evie and thrust her weapon forward. But, suddenly, out of nowhere, Benny was there, standing in front of Evie. The witcheress’ blade sunk deep into Benny’s belly, and he let out a huge gasp.  The portly mage’s face carried a look of both confusion and surprise.  He stared into his attacker’s eyes, and as she was about to pull her weapon from his body, he reached up and grabbed onto it, squeezing the handle with all the strength that he had left.

 

It was then that the door of the papaver den exploded into pieces.

 

The witcheress, in an instant, took stock of the situation. The attack had not gone as she’d planned.  She jerked hard and pulled her weapon from Benny’s grasp. As she withdrew the blade, the sorcerer dropped to his knees. He reached up and pressed both hands against his bloody abdomen a moment before falling over onto his side in the middle of the stone street.  Jezrai turned and ran over to Nebo, who had finally extinguished the flames that had been covering his upper body.  She pulled him to his feet, and they sprinted from the scene just before Geralt rushed into the street, with his sword poised to kill.

 

Like only he could do, the witcher assessed the scene in a fraction of a second. Three men were down. Barcain was injured but getting to his feet, but Benny was lying flat on his back, both hands covering his belly. He quickly moved over to the Zerrikanian warrior, who was lying on his left side. The witcher had to make sure that he no longer posed a threat.  Geralt saw that he had crossbow bolt through the right lung and another bolt sticking out of his right thigh. After kicking the man’s sword away from his reach, the witcher grabbed his knife and sliced two long strips of fabric from the warrior’s trousers.  He then quickly and expertly bound the attacker’s wrists and ankles. The witcher would deal with him later. At the moment, he had to check on his friend.

 

Geralt rushed over to Benny’s side and knelt next to him. Evie, Lydial, and Barcain were already crowded around him.

 

“It’s too dark. I can’t see anything,” said Benny in a weak voice. His breathing was shallow and rapid. “How does it look?”

 

The witcher gently moved Benny’s hands to the side and then opened the mage’s vest and shirt to get a clear look at the injury. It was too dark in the street for the other three to see how serious the wound was, but Geralt could tell.

 

“Damn it, Benny,” he whispered.  It was gushing blood.

 

“That bad?” Benny wheezed.

 

“Yeah.”

 

“The liver?”

 

“Yeah.”

 

Benny nodded his head in understanding.

 

“Geralt, what can we do to help him?” asked Evie. “I have a healing potion on me.”

 

The witcher didn’t answer. He just stared down into his friend’s face.

 

Benny feebly reached up a bloody, trembling hand towards Geralt, and the witcher immediately grasped it with his own. 

 

“Ah…damn, Geralt. I… I really hoped…I’d see this…to the end.” His breathing was becoming faster and even more shallow.  “Thanks…for being my friend…Geralt.”

 

The witcher squeezed Benny’s hand tighter and nodded. “You, too, Benny.”

 

“Maybe…we’ll…see each other…”

 

But, he never finished his thought, and Geralt felt his friend’s grip go slack as his breathing stopped. The other hand that had been resting on his belly fell down to his side, laying palm-up in the street.  The witcher looked down at his friend’s hand in his own and then gently placed it to the mage’s side. He clenched his jaws tightly as he suddenly felt something in his chest go cold.

 

It was then that he heard Evie and Lydial crying. He turned to Evie and she instinctively wrapped her arms around him. As the White Wolf listened to his wife’s sobs, the cold rage inside of him began to deepen.

 

Eventually, he said, “Let go, baby. I’ve got work to do.”

 

“What…what are you going to do?” she asked, fear in her voice.

 

“What I do best,” he growled.

 

“Geralt, no, please don’t,” she begged.

 

But, the witcher simply released his wife, stood, and walked over to the trussed-up warrior.  He knelt down next to him and rolled the Zerrikanian onto his back.  The man’s breathing did not sound good. The witcher figured there was probably blood leaking into his right lung cavity.

 

The Butcher of Blaviken grabbed the crossbow bolt protruding from the warrior’s leg, and then he asked with zero emotion in his voice, “Who are you and why did you try to kill us?”

 

Tiki looked up at the witcher with pure hatred in his eyes.  He then cleared his throat and spat a bloody mass of phlegm into the witcher’s face. 

 

“Go to hell, albino dog,” he said before chuckling.

 

The monster-slayer slowly wiped the spit from his face. He then stared into Tiki’s eyes and suddenly and violently twisted the crossbow bolt in his hand.  Tiki let out a horrendous scream, but the witcher didn’t stop.  He just kept twisting the bolt around and around, deeper and deeper, making the screams intensify. Finally, after perhaps a minute, he let up on the pressure so that the screaming eventually turned into moans.

 

“I can do this all night,” said the witcher in a soft voice. “Question is – can you?”

 

“Screw you! Screw you, bastard! I’ll die before I say anything!”

 

The White Wolf twisted the crossbow bolt again, which again elicited screams of agony.  After about thirty seconds of torture, the witcher finally stopped.  The warrior was breathing fast, and his face was drenched with sweat.

 

The witcher stared into the man’s eyes.

 

“I don’t plan on you dying.  In fact, I’m going to save your life,” he said in an eerily calm voice.  “Not sure if you know this, but witchers are great at healing.  I’ve patched up plenty of my own punctured lungs before,” the witcher lied. “Yours will be a piece of cake.”

 

The warrior’s wild eyes held confusion. 

 

“But you _are_ a dangerous animal, and I can’t in good conscience just release back out into civilization. Can’t have you killing anybody else,” said the Butcher of Blaviken as he unsheathed his knife. He then placed his razor-sharp blade against the man’s right wrist. 

 

“So, what I’m gonna do is this. I’m gonna cut off both of your hands and both of your feet.  Then, I’ll use my Igni Sign to cauterize the wounds so that you won’t bleed out.”

 

At that, he turned his left hand away and blasted a stream of fire to give the warrior a demonstration.

 

“Impressive, huh?” said the White Wolf. “So, you’re _gonna_ live…though, I’m not sure a Zerrikanian warrior would really call that living…never able to grasp a blade again…having to go through life as a beggar.  In fact, I think maybe I’ll even cut both your eyes out, too.  That’ll make you a more sympathetic figure.  You’ll get more coin tossed your way.”

 

The Zerrikanian’s eyes held nothing but terror.  He could tell that the witcher was making no idle threats.

 

“Or…you tell me what I want to know.”

 

“And you’ll just let me go? Yeah, right.”

 

“Oh, no. But, I will kill you quick,” he answered in the most frightening whisper Tiki had ever heard. Tiki would swear it was pure evil.  “You’ve only got two choices – die whole or live in pieces. So, I will ask you one more time – and only one more time. Who are you and why did you try to kill my wife and friends?  I’ll give you ten seconds to think about how you’re going to answer.”

 

The Butcher of Blaviken then reached down and grabbed the man’s right forearm with his left hand and placed his knife to Tiki’s wrist. He then gave the man a gruesome smile.

 

“This is your sword hand, right?”

 

Then, he began to count.  “One…two…three…four…”

 

oOo

 

            “Quit squirming,” commanded Jezrai, applying more ointment to Nebo’s burned skin.

 

            The two of them were in the front room of her small cottage high up on Mount Omaan.  It was very secluded, set far back from the main road that wound its way back and forth through the mountain’s lush vegetation.

 

            “We have to go back for Tiki!” he yelled.

 

            “Nebo, listen to me. I’m sure that, by now, the city watch has arrived.”

 

            “Even more reason to get him. I’ll not let him rot in a jail cell.”

 

            “He won’t be in a cell.  I saw his injuries.  They’ll take him to a hospital. And while he’s there, I’ll speak with my connections. You know that a few high-placed members of the city’s council owe me favors. I assure you, we’ll save Tiki,” she said calmly. “But right now, we need to treat these burns, okay?”

 

            “And then we’ll kill those Western dogs?”

 

            “Slowly and painfully.”

 

            Upon hearing that answer, Nebo seemed to calm. He looked into Jezrai’s eyes and nodded. 

 

            Suddenly, one of the front windows of the cabin shattered, shards of glass flying all over the front room.  Nebo sprung up from the table on which he’d been lying, while Jezrai immediately grabbed her weapon. The witcheress heard a low, guttural sound coming from Nebo’s throat. She glanced over at her lover and saw him staring at the floor.  She shifted her eyes downward to see Tiki’s decapitated head. Before she could say or do anything, Nebo, in a craze, ran towards the now open window. 

 

            “Bastard!” he screamed. “I’ll-”

 

            Instantly, his head snapped back, and he fell to the floor dead, a crossbow bolt right through the eye.

 

            Jezrai cursed to herself, but she made no other sound.  She was listening for any kind of noise coming from outside of her home. As she was waiting quietly, she reached into a pouch located on her belt, took out two potions, and quickly downed them both. She crouched down and duck-walked over to her other front window. As she was getting ready to quickly poke her head above the frame to take a peak outside, she heard a voice.

 

“It’s just the two of us now. Come on out.”

 

She’d never heard the voice before, but she had no doubt as to whom it belonged. She took a quick peak through her window and saw the white-haired witcher standing alone in the clearing in front of her house with his sword in hand. She duck-walked to the other side of the room, to the smashed window, and quickly peaked through it.  She didn’t trust this witcher, but he didn’t seem to be playing any tricks. He was still there, just standing and waiting for her.  So, she slowly stood, moved to the door, calmly opened it, and stepped out into the late-night air.  She walked towards the witcher, never breaking eye-contact with him. She stopped when she got within fifteen feet of him.

 

The White Wolf looked at Jezrai. He was neither surprised by her gender or by the fact that she was a witcher.  Tiki had told him everything.

 

“His name was Benny,” said the Butcher of Blaviken. “He was a good man. And he was my friend.”

 

She sneered at the witcher. “And I don’t care. You come here to fight or to talk?”

 

“Neither. I came here for a reckoning.”

 

The witcheress brought her short staff up in front of her into a horizontal position and grabbed it with both hands. Geralt heard a “clicking” sound, and, suddenly, the length of the staff doubled as two feet of steel blade shot out of both ends.  She then whirled the staff in front of and around her body in an impressive display of skill before bringing it to a sudden stop, pulled tight against her right side.

 

“No one’s ever bested me yet…old man.”

 

Jezrai swung her staff forward and immediately went on the offensive. The White Wolf back-pedaled and parried a flurry of attacks coming from all angles. He’d obviously fought against staff-wielding opponents in his life before, but none with a staff like Jezrai’s and certainly none with her speed and skill. It was taking everything he had to avoid her blades.

 

As she was coming out of a pirouette to strike again, the witcher took his left hand off his sword and blasted the Zerrikanian with an Aard Sign.  She flew backwards a good five yards, winding up on her back.  Before she’d even landed, the witcher sprinted after her, hoping to finish her off with a downward thrust.  But she flipped up-right onto her feet in a flash and easily parried away his attack. He hadn’t really even come close.

 

Then, she took a few steps backwards before casting a Sign of her own.  Once her Quen shield was activated, she immediately went on the offensive again. And again, the White Wolf was unable to counter-attack.  All he could do was defend – to parry and dodge. Normally, after he parried an enemy’s attack, he’d have time to make an offensive move of his own, but with her double-bladed weapon, he had no chance for as soon as he parried one blade, she was already swinging the other one at him.  He rolled away from a final thrust and came to his feet a good five paces away from the witcheress.  While both his heart-rate and breathing had increased a bit, it didn’t appear that she was being taxed at all physically. For a moment, he wondered just how young this witcheress was, and that was when he noticed some slight pain in his left arm. He reached over with his right hand and touched his sleeve.  He looked at his hand to see blood.

 

“That’s just a taste of this Scorpion’s sting, old man. Prepare for more. That is, if the venom doesn’t kill you first.”

 

Not good, thought the White Wolf.  If she truly did poison her blades, then he needed to finish this fight soon and get a White Honey down his throat. But, Jezrai didn’t give him time to formulate any kind of plan. She cast another Quen Sign and then charged ahead for a third time, spinning her staff around her in a whirlwind. When her weapon got within ten feet of him, the witcher threw a dimeritium bomb.  She saw it coming and smashed it in mid-air with one end of her staff. The cannister ruptured, and dimeritium dust exploded all around.  Luckily for the witcher, just enough of it got on her person that her Quen shield blinked out.  

 

Jezrai expected him to immediately go on the offensive. However, despite having the advantage, instead of attacking, the witcher actually backed away.  He didn’t want to walk into the area where the dust was still lingering in the air.  Having temporarily lost the use her Signs, the aggressive Jezrai was content to fight defensively until she regained her casting abilities.  Thus, the two witchers were simply standing and staring at one another from fifteen feet away, with a cloud of dimeritium dust floating in between them. At least now, she seemed to be breathing a little faster, too, thought the witcher.

 

The White Wolf tossed another bomb at the witcheress, but with her reflexes and from that distance, she was easily able to roll away from its explosive range. He wasn’t exactly sure how he was going to defeat her for her staff was a very odd weapon to fight against. But, more than that, the witcher thought that she might actually be quicker than he was. In fact, she may have been the fastest human he’d ever gone up against. She was, certainly, as fast as any bruxa that he’d ever faced.  Nenneke had warned him that he’d lost a step, and, hell, that had been a decade past.  If he was a step slow then, then what was he now?

 

He knew that he had to think of something – and that he needed to do so quickly - for the pain in his arm was becoming more intense – as if the poison was beginning to spread.  In that instant, the witcher looked over Jezrai’s head at her house behind her.  He stared at the house for just a moment before quickly shifting his gaze back to the witcheress, and then he began to slowly move to his left.

 

As the witcher moved, Jezrai did the same.  They both circled the dimeritium cloud that was in between them. Once he had finally positioned himself between her and the house, he turned and sprinted through her front door.

 

Jezrai stayed where she was, surprised and slightly confused by the witcher’s move. She was fairly certain that he hadn’t run into her house out of cowardice.  He clearly wasn’t trying to escape.  So, he must have had some kind of plan, but she sneered at that thought.  If he had run in there so that he could down a potion to neutralize the toxins, well, she had a remedy for that.  She was planning on skewering his heart and removing his head. No potion could save him from that. And if he had retreated into the house to neutralize her weapon, knowing that a long staff would be difficult to maneuver in such confined quarters, well, she had an answer for that, as well.  She pressed a button and twisted her staff so that it separated into two pieces. She now had essentially two swords in hand. Whatever his plan, she’d make it backfire on him. She knew her house much better than he did.  She nodded to herself and then headed for her front door.

 

At the last second, she turned and ran towards the broken window. She dived through the opening, curled her body into a ball, rolled as she hit the floor, and popped to her feet with her two swords at the ready.  She quickly scanned the area, but he was nowhere to be seen. The witcheress slowly knelt down, placed the sword in her left hand on the floor, and attempted to cast a Quen Sign but to no avail.  The dimeritium dust on her body was still interfering with her ability to use magic, but she just shrugged it off. It mattered not to her. She had no doubt that she could kill this old witcher with or without her Signs, and she had him on the run. 

 

She quickly picked the sword back up and then moved to her right, keeping her back to the front wall.  She knew that there was only one place in that front room where he could be hidden.  As she approached a counter that she’d set up to separate the kitchen area from the rest of the front room, she readied herself for battle.  She took one more side-step to the right but relaxed slightly upon seeing that the witcher was not crouched behind the counter. That meant there was only one other place he could be.  Given that she only had two rooms in her house – the main, front room housing the kitchen and living area and a smaller back room where she slept – and given that the backroom possessed no doors or windows, then clearly the white-haired witcher was hiding somewhere in her bedroom. 

 

“You wanted me, old man. Be careful what you wish for,” she said as she slowly stalked towards the backroom.

 

She approached the threshold leading to her sleeping quarters and noticed that the bedroom door was halfway closed. However, she felt confident that the witcher wasn’t behind it for her medallion had not twitched.  She knew that the magic in his medallion would have caused hers to vibrate if he was anywhere nearby. 

 

She kicked the door, and it swung violently on its hinges, smacking hard against the wooden wall.  She smiled.  He clearly wasn’t hidden behind the door.  As she stepped into her bedroom, she suddenly felt an incredibly sharp pain coursing through her torso – so intense that it knocked the wind out of her. The nerves in both her back and chest were on fire, and the pain was so debilitating that she involuntarily dropped her weapons and fell to her knees. Gasping for breath, she reached up to her chest and pulled away a trembling, blood-covered hand.  As she stared down at her own blood, she suddenly fell to the floor, landing on her side before slowly rolling over onto her back.  Spasms shot through her again, and the witcheress coughed, blood spewing from her mouth and splattering her face.  She didn’t understand what had happened.  She looked up to where the witcher should have been if he’d attacked her from behind, but he wasn’t there. And, then, suddenly, he appeared right in front of her.  He was standing in the doorway, looking down at her with cold eyes.  He held his sword in his hand, and her blood was dripping off the blade. Again, she was confused. He’d materialized out of thin air.

 

As if he was reading her mind and seeing her unspoken questions, he sheathed his sword, raised both of his hands in front of him, and twisted them into a shape that she’d never seen before. Two seconds later, the white-haired witcher disappeared.  It couldn’t be, she thought.  It shouldn’t be.  The bastard had tricked her. And even if he could make himself invisible, why hadn’t her medallion warned her of his presence?  It should have sensed his magical medallion. It also should have sensed him harnessing the magic to cast his invisibility spell.

 

And, then, it dawned on her – the dimeritium.  No one had ever used dimeritium against her before so it hadn’t even occurred to her, but the dust must have interfered with her medallion, as well. There was no other explanation. As she lay there bleeding out, she’d never felt like a bigger fool. She had been so sure that she could easily defeat the old man that, in her zeal to kill him, it had not even crossed her mind that her medallion might not be functioning properly.  She knew that her recklessness had cost her, and she knew that she would soon pay in full.

 

Suddenly, the witcher was right next to her.  She still couldn’t see him, but she heard his voice very near to her face.

 

“You know who taught me this invisibility Sign?” he asked in a low voice. “My good friend…Benny…that’s who. I bet you care now, don’t you?”

 

She couldn’t say anything. She just coughed up more blood as pain coursed through her chest.  A few seconds later, the Sign wore off, and the witcher became visible again.  He stood and noticed her eyes following his movement.

 

“You can see me now…good…because I want _you_ to see this coming.”

 

He unsheathed his sword and raised it high with both hands on the hilt.  

 

As he stared down at the dying witcheress, he said two words, “For Benny.”

 

Then he drove the point of his blade right through her face and into the wooden floor beneath.

 

oOo

 

After Tiki had chosen to tell Geralt everything he wanted to know, the witcher kept his word and killed the Zerrikanian quickly.  He’d then searched the city until he found a donkey to steal.  He told himself that he’d return it later.  They’d draped both Benny and Tiki’s corpses over its back and then, in the darkness of the night, they’d taken back alleys and empty streets to the southwestern side of town.  The witcher wasn’t too worried about being stopped. He figured he’d Axii every one they came across if he had to. 

 

Once they got to the base of Mount Omaan, Geralt removed Tiki’s head, tossed his corpse into the overgrowth, and ascended the winding road to confront Jezrai.  The rest headed for the beach on the far west of town, outside the city’s limits. They found and cut wood for a pyre, and then Lydial and Evie prayed for the witcher’s return.

 

An hour before sunrise, Geralt found them on the empty beach. They’d already placed Benny’s body on top of the pyre and were just waiting for him to arrive.   When the witcher was fifty feet away, Evie looked up and noticed him approaching. She got to her feet and ran towards him until they stood just a foot apart. She looked into her husband’s eyes as the noise of the tide rolling in sounded around them. She didn’t like the look on his face.

 

“Are you okay?” she asked tenderly.

 

He just shook his head. “No, I’m not.  I just feel…empty.”

 

Evie didn’t say anything. She simply stepped forward, kissed Geralt on his cheek, and wrapped her arms around him. Eventually, he broke their embrace and grasped her hand in his.

 

“Come on,” he said before leading her towards the pyre.

 

Everyone said a few words about their favorite mage, and Lydial said a prayer, asking for Essea to have mercy on his soul.  Then, the witcher cast an Igni. Within a minute,

sparks floated upward into the sky as the flames engulfed the wood. 

 

            After about ten minutes of watching the fire turn his close friend’s corpse into ash, Geralt turned and started slowly walking westward along the beach, further away from Azabar. 

 

            Evie watched him worriedly.

 

            “It’s been a long night. Why don’t you two head back to the inn,” she eventually said to Lydial and Barcain.  “Geralt and I will be along later.”

 

            After the two agreed and began their trek back to town, Evie went in search for her husband, following his footprints in the wet sand.  She found him about a quarter mile away, kneeling in the sand and facing the sea. She stopped and knelt beside him but didn’t say a word. Eventually, he turned his left hand over and held it out slightly to his side.  Evie immediately grasped it with hers. They stayed there in silence until the sun came up and changed the dark waters to clear, crystal blue. 

 

            “I gave into the voices tonight.”

 

            “I know.”

 

            He didn’t say anything else, as if he was expecting for her to continue.  But she didn’t. So, eventually, he spoke again.

 

            “Seeing Benny die right there in front of me…I just felt pure rage.  Then, I looked at you kneeling next to him, crying…and for the briefest moment, I felt relief that it was him and not you.” 

 

The witcher shook his head, disgust etched on his face.

 

“And then, I felt guilty because…what kind of piece of shit would think something like that?”

 

The monster-slayer continued looking straight ahead and then swallowed.

 

“At that point, the voices were…so loud – telling me that they all deserved to suffer a bloody, _excruciating_ death. Last time they were that loud was…after Ciri.”

 

The witcher shook his head again.

 

“I could’ve used Axii on that warrior in the street.  Tried to get the information out of him that way, but…a part of me _wanted_ to torture him…to make him feel the same pain I was feeling. If Essea’s voice was saying anything to me then, then…I couldn’t hear it.” He swallowed and clenched his jaws. “Or, maybe, I just chose not to.”

 

            The witcher continued to stare out into the ocean.  And Evie still didn’t say anything. She just kept holding his hand. 

 

            “You know what’s the worst thing about it all?”

 

            “What?”

 

            “Not what I did – torturing that man, killing the others – but that there is _still_ a part of me that actually enjoyed it.  Giving in to the darkness felt…delicious. At least, in the moment.  Now, I just feel…soiled.” 

 

He shook his head again. Evie could see the confusion and hurt on his face.

 

            “I don’t understand,” he continued, his eyes still peering out past the sea’s waves.  “I believe that Essea put his light or goodness or whatever you want to call it inside of me.  So, how is it that the dark can _still_ feel so good?”

 

            “I don’t know, Geralt. I don’t know _why_ that is. I just know that it is.”

 

            He just nodded his head and sighed deeply. 

 

“Do you still love me?” he asked, his voice barely a whisper.

 

            “Oh, Geralt…of course, I do. I’ll always love you.”

 

            “No matter what?”

 

            “Yes, baby, no matter what.”

 

            Finally, he turned his head to look at her.  She saw nothing but pain in his eyes so she gave him a nod and a warm, reassuring smile.

 

            “No matter what,” she repeated.

 

            He just swallowed and continued to stare into her eyes for several long moments.

 

            “You’re taking all this fairly calmly,” he eventually said.

 

            Her smile grew a little.

 

“Ranting and raving, insulting you, telling you what a disappointment you are – none of that would help anything. It wouldn’t change what happened last night.  It certainly wouldn’t strengthen our relationship.  And it wouldn’t change how you might act in the future.”

 

            “No?”

 

            Evie shook her head.  “Whatever exactly those dark voices are – pure evil, basic human nature, the consequences of your mutations, whatever - that’s…a spiritual thing, Geralt.  I can’t change that.  Heck, you yourself have admitted that you can’t change that. I think only God can.”

 

            Geralt gave a short nod.

 

            “So, the best thing that I can do as your wife – the most loving thing that I can do as your wife – is to just keep supporting you, praying for you, loving you…and pointing you towards him.”

 

            The look on his face almost made Evie break into tears. 

 

“Thank you, Evie. For loving me. I know I don’t deserve it, but I’m grateful for it,” the witcher said in a voice barely above a whisper. “My life is so much better with you in it.”

 

            “Mine, too, Geralt. You make mine better, too.”

 

The witcher then glanced down at his armor, still covered in blood.  He looked back at Evie and nodded his head again, as if he’d made up his mind about something.

 

“I’ll be right back, okay?”

 

            “Okay. I’ll be right here.”

 

            The witcher stood, dropped his weapons to the sand, and then began to slowly take off his armor.  A few minutes later, after he’d stripped naked, he walked off the beach and into the sea. He kept walking out until the water was up to his neck, and then he crouched down and completely submerged himself. He scrubbed his hands all over his body – his scalp and chest and hands, even rubbing his finger across his teeth and tongue.  Then, he just let himself float, his eyes closed, allowing the water to move him where it wanted.  And he talked to Essea.

 

            _“God, I know I’m not innocent. I speak to you now, knowing full well that I am guilty. Guilty of torture. Guilty of taking vengeance into my own hands. And guilty of enjoying it all. But, I ask…I humbly ask that you somehow forgive me. I don’t know how a just God like you can forgive me, but I ask that you do, like King Altachadh did for his son. Because I have no way to cleanse myself of this guilt…”_

 

Geralt continued to talk until he had nothing left to say, and then, he just lay still, his eyes still closed, floating calmly on the waves.

 

He wasn’t sure how long he’d been out in the sea when he, suddenly, felt something bump against both his forehead and the middle of his upper back.  Startled, he quickly stood up and opened his eyes. To his amazement, he saw two Delphilumens swimming around him in circles. Then, at once, they both approached him and began to gently bump their snouts against his body. He tentatively reached out with his hand and stroked the body of the creature in front of him. Its light gray skin was smooth to the touch, and up close, he could see just how powerful the creatures were. It was clear why they were able to leap fifteen feet or more into the air. In the bright sunlight, the animals didn’t seem to be giving off their luminescent glow, but Geralt still thought that they were beautiful.

 

Then, thinking of his wife, he quickly turned to face the beach. He was about to yell at her to swim out when he looked down and noticed that suddenly, somehow, he was all alone.  The two creatures had vanished.  He looked around him, shaking his head.  He didn’t think it possible that they could swim away that fast, and he began to wonder if he’d just imagined the whole thing. He looked around one last time and then swam back towards the shore.

 

            Evie watched Geralt intently as he walked towards her, the rays of the morning sun shimmering off the drops of water that were still running down his naked body. She looked up at him and smiled.

 

            “Feel better?”

 

            “Yeah. Not so dirty anymore,” he answered.

 

He was just about to tell her about the Delphilumens, when he noticed the look in her eye.  He smiled because he recognized that look. He knew it well.  He loved it well.

 

            Evie stood and stepped up close to her husband. “You know, I’m feeling a little dirty myself.  I think I may need to go for a swim, too. Will you help me out of my clothes?”

 

            “With pleasure.”  

 

The story about the Delphilumens could wait, thought the witcher.  

 

oOo

 

Korath Desert

 

            Philippa, in her owl form, flying near the ceiling of the enormous mausoleum, watched as Professor Gigglethorpe’s body was torn in two.  Screams were echoing in her ears, but the screams weren’t from the professor alone.  The dozen Zerrikanian warriors that she’d hired as escorts were being slaughtered, their skill with their swords proving useless.  She quickly scanned the area and, to her relief, didn’t see her brother among the dead and dying.  She assumed that he was under his invisibility spell.  She flew towards the long stairwell and passed over the hundreds of steps much more quickly than if she’d been on foot.  Halfway up the stairwell, she sensed her brother’s magical signature underneath her. Like her, he, too, was fleeing upward towards the crypt’s open doors.  

 

            Once outside the crypt and under the night’s sky, she immediately changed into her human form.

 

            “Time is of the essence, Oran!” she yelled at the crypt’s entrance.

 

            Thirty seconds later, she heard her brother’s gasping breaths.  She instantly cast a portal, and the siblings both jumped through.

 

            Five minutes later, after two more portals, the two landed in Philippa’s luxury, hotel suite in Azabar. 

 

            “Holy hell,” said Oran, collapsing to the floor and still breathing hard.

 

            “That did not go as planned,” the sorceress said in an understated fashion.

 

            “Dear, sister, we’re going to need every warrior in Zerrikania if we’re going back into that.”

 

            “Actually, I have another plan.”

 

            “What’s that? Just forgetting about the whole thing and going back home?” he asked hopefully.

 

            “Don’t be a fool, Oran. No, we’ll simply let the witcher and his little friend do the work for us.  And then, whatever they find down there, we’ll simply take it from them.”

 

            “Yeah,” agreed the Ghost, nodding his head. “I like that plan better.”

 

            “Let’s just hope Jezrai has not already earned the second part of her payment.”

 

oOo

 

            The witcher opened his eyes upon hearing the unmistakable sounds of scurrying insects, and the first thing he noticed was that it was now nighttime.  He stood up from where he’d been kneeling in meditation and picked up his silver sword that he’d earlier placed on the ground by his side. Time for work, he thought.

 

            He was a three-hour’s walk east of Azabar, just outside the small, agricultural town of Kradesh. He’d seen a contract on an Azabar notice board that morning from the town’s alderman and had met up with the man in one of the city’s local taverns. With Evie translating, the monster-slayer had discovered that the town had been recently abandoned due to a spate of monster attacks.

 

            “Have him describe the monsters,” Geralt had instructed his wife.

 

             The alderman had spoken rapidly for half a minute before Evie finally turned to her husband with an unhappy look on her face.

 

“Scorpions,” she’d said. “He says that they look like enormous scorpions…as big as a camel.”

 

            The witcher nodded his head. “Aculeomorphs.”

 

            “Are they dangerous?”

 

            “Very,” he’d replied. “But that’s good.”

 

            “Why is that?” she asked in confusion.

 

            “Because it means I can charge a lot…and we need the coin.”

 

            That conversation had taken place that morning. Now, under the stars, the witcher quickly downed three potions and pulled a Dancing Star from his bandolier.  He could hear the “clicking” of the monsters’ mandibles as they approached, making their way to the entrance of their burrow. 

 

            The first creature was just coming up out of the ground when the witcher threw the bomb in its direction and then immediately cast a Quen.  The giant scorpion-looking monster caught on fire, causing it to screech, but it didn’t slow down.  It was moving quickly to the witcher’s left, and two more were now circling to his right.

 

            He’d never seen an Aculeomorph in person before, but he’d read about them in his bestiary. He had to admit that the tome did an adequate job of describing their appearance. They did indeed look like large scorpions. They were the size of a large bear with two enormous pinchers near the front of their bodies – big enough to cut a grown man in two.  As if that weren’t enough, their mouths - in addition to rows of sharp teeth - also had a smaller set of pinchers inside. But their most dangerous feature, in the witcher’s opinion, was their fifteen-foot long tail that ended in a rock-hard aculeus – or stinger.  The witcher just hoped that John of Brugge had done just as adequate a job in researching these monsters’ weaknesses as he had their appearance.  Regardless, the White Wolf was about to find out.

 

oOo

 

            The creature turned its head and bellowed loudly and wetly right in the witcher’s face.

 

            “I think she likes you,” said Barcain after a chuckle.

 

            “Swell,” remarked the witcher before climbing aboard the tall animal. “At least her breath is better than yours.”

 

            The money that he’d earned from the Aculeomorph contract allowed them to buy all the supplies they’d need for several weeks in the desert.  They had five camels in total – one for each to ride with a spare to serve as a “pack” camel, which would carry their tent, food, and water supply. They’d also bought attire suitable for the desert heat, including coverings for their heads.

 

            Prior to that, they’d again tracked down Uzi in a papaver den. Their second trip to Dreamer’s Row was thankfully much less deadly.  One Axii sign later, they’d escorted him to the Golden Dragon, where Evie had spent several hours asking him questions and taking notes. Now, with those notes in her satchel, she turned to the others with a small but excited smile on her face. She felt the same sense of anticipation that had always gripped her before she set off on some important journey to undiscover history’s secrets – whether that journey was in the field or just in a library.

 

            “Everyone ready?” she asked.   

 

            They all answered in the affirmative and then headed out of Azabar and into the desert, in search of the lost city of Gearrlon.

 

oOo

 

            In the clearing in front of Jezrai’s home, Philippa and Oran stepped out of a fiery, magical portal.  It was mid-day, with the sun, as usual, shining hot and bright.

 

As the portal was closing behind them, Oran said, “You know, you never mentioned how you knew where this witcheress lives.”

 

“That’s none of your concern, brother,” answered the sorceress.  “Discretion keeps me…”

 

But she didn’t finish her thought.

 

“Discretion keeps you from what?” he asked.

 

“Be alert, Oran,” warned Philippa, pointing to the front of the house, with its shattered window and wide-open door. “Things are amiss.”

 

“Stay here. I’ll check it out,” said Oran, and then he immediately cast his invisibility spell. 

 

Two minutes later, Oran yelled out to his sister from inside the house.

 

“It’s all clear in here…but you really need to see this.”

 

As Philippa approached the house, she noticed two things – the flies and the stench.  She knew what those two harbingers meant.  Thus, she was not surprised when, after walking across the threshold, she saw a decapitated head and two corpses covered in flies.  She was a bit shocked, however, to see that one of the corpses belonged to the witcheress from the School of the Scorpion. 

 

“Damn it all,” hissed Philippa. “I wonder if it was the witcher.”

 

“I can almost _guarantee_ that it was,” said Oran, standing just inside the bedroom, next to Jezrai’s fly-covered body.

 

“And just how, pray tell, would you know that?”

 

“Come into the bedroom, and you’ll see.”

 

Philippa sighed in exasperation but walked over to the back room. She stepped over her one-time lover’s corpse and then paused at what she saw before her.

 

On the wall, written in large, bloody letters was one word – Eilhart.

 

 “Well, there’s good news,” said Oran, staring at the wall like his sister. “We can be fairly certain that the witcher is still alive. I mean, that is what you wanted, right?”

 


	19. Chapter 19

_The royal palace of Gearrlon; 965 Years Ago_

Aerensoska was a Golden Dragon. Three centuries prior, she had been pulled into the world from her own during the Conjunction of the Spheres.  After she’d been sucked through a portal, she’d landed in the Korath Desert and had been at a complete loss to explain what had just transpired. She stayed where she’d landed, hoping that another portal would suddenly appear to take her back home.  However, after two days of fruitless waiting, she decided to explore the strange, new land. The desert heat suited her well, and she eventually began constructing a nest near a very large oasis that she’d discovered.  Her biggest concern – besides not being able to return to her home world - was that she could find no other Golden Dragons. She’d spent weeks flying high above the large desert, but she’d found no other of her kind.

 

When she returned to her nest, she discovered that strange, little creatures had arrived at her oasis.  These little creatures – they called themselves humans – like her, were not indigenous to the world.  But, unlike her, they found the desert an inhospitable environment.  They needed both water and shelter, which her oasis could provide. Initially, she was going to eat the little humans – she did require sustenance, after all - but she quickly reconsidered after discovering that they were sentient, thinking creatures.  Despite the ferocity a Golden Dragon could display, they were, by nature, typically very gentle and peaceful beings. Aerensoska was no different.

 

When she’d first swooped down from the sky with her wings spread wide, the few dozen or so humans drinking from her oasis had, naturally, been terrified. However, after discovering that her curiosity about them did not involve having them for dinner, they began to form a relationship. It was a relationship built on the fact that they were all foreigners in a strange world, hoping for the day when they could return to their own, and realizing that they needed to adapt to their new world as quickly as possible until that day arrived. She soon found herself feeling protective of the defenseless humans, who, without her aid, would have been easily and quickly devoured by most – if not all - of the deadly, carnivorous desert monsters.  She pitied them for they had no scales, or fire, or sharp claws, or magic.  How could they survive without her? The humans quickly began to view her as their leader – and not simply because of her physical and magical powers.  It was also because of her kindness and wisdom.

 

With time, more and more humans began to wander in from the desert. It wasn’t long before they – with Aerensoska’s help – began to build a small community around the large oasis. Soon after that, the women started birthing babies – lots of babies.  The Golden Dragon was amazed at how fast and how often the humans reproduced.  Within a century, there were thousands of residents in the city of Gearrlon.  Aerensoska viewed them all as her children. 

 

Early on, less than a decade after the Conjunction, while Gearrlon was still only a small village, Aerensoska was faced with an important decision.  Despite being surrounded by hundreds of people, Aerensoska carried a loneliness in her heart.  She still had found no other of her kind in her travels, and as a dragon, she clearly did not fit within Gearrlon society. While she cared for the humans, she was contemplating leaving Gearrlon for good and searching the planet until she finally found another dragon from her home world. She discussed her dilemma with one of her closest confidants, one of the city’s tradesmen – a merchant who dealt exclusively with glass products.  During their conversation, she confided in him that she possessed the magical ability to transform her body into that of any other species. The merchant encouraged her to disregard looking for other dragons and to simply take the form of a human.  He told her that it made the most sense because, then, she could completely fit in with all those around her, which would fill the loneliness that she felt inside.

 

Back in her own world, Golden Dragons rarely saw the need to take on a second form, and Aerensoska had been no different.  Though, she had seen it done by others.  It was not a decision that she took lightly for she knew that it was a one-time choice.  Afterwards, she’d still be able to transform back into her natural, dragon form. However, she’d never be able to transform into any other types of creatures.  But, when she looked at her life and saw that the humans were the only other thinking beings in the desert, she realized that the decision wasn’t really that difficult after all.  The consequences of that choice would be felt in the centuries to come.

 

Initially, the humans were amazed at Aerensoska’s magic and her transformation.  She eagerly accepted their invitations into their homes. Before the change, she’d been unable to enter given that, as a dragon, she was actually bigger than many of their houses.  She ate meals with them and swapped stories of their home worlds.  She cared for their children and began teaching them the ways of magic. She started to become one of them.

 

When she first encountered the strange, little creatures called humans, she was intrigued. They had creative minds that could come up with innovative solutions to whatever problems they faced.  They also had a capacity to show compassion and generosity to one another. She’d spent many nights in her nest listening to them laughing and singing in their huts, longing for that same type of intimate connection.  Those qualities all reminded her of home and of her fellow Golden Dragons.  However, she also saw another side to the humans.  They often displayed pettiness and jealousy.  And they had a penchant for violence, as evidenced by fights routinely breaking out within the small village.  There was even the occasional murder.  Aerensoska didn’t understand.  To her knowledge, no Golden Dragon had ever killed one of their own.  It was simply unthinkable.

 

But those were her thoughts prior to her transformation.  The more time she spent in human form, the more she started to think like them, to act like them.  In time, the once peace-loving Aerensoska found herself the leader of a city full of warriors.  By the turn of the century, the Gearrlon raiders were routinely invading Haakland, Zerrikania, and even the Western lands on the other side of the Tir Torchair Mountains.  No army could withstand the power of a dragon, and as the warriors returned home with more and more plunder and slaves, the city-state of Gearrlon – along with its fierce reputation - continued to grow.

 

Aerensoska and the human mages combined their magic with some innovative engineering to create channels of water that radiated out from the oasis, heading in each of the four cardinal directions. Those streams irrigated the lands surrounding the growing city, allowing for crops to be grown.  The older and weaker slaves were put to work in the fields while, on the backs of the stronger slaves, an impressive palace was built full of gold, silver, and jewels. A palace where the Golden Dragon and her mage council ruled and resided for another century.

 

And, it was then, at the height of Gearrlon’s power, that Aerensoska began to have disturbing, confusing dreams. Her mind was troubled.  Neither she nor any on her mage council could successfully interpret what the recurring dream might mean.

 

One day, one of the throne room’s young, female elven servants courageously spoke to Aerensoska.

 

“Beg your pardon, Your Highness,” the servant said, kneeling before the throne, “but I know of one who could interpret your dreams.”

 

“And who would that be, little one?” the Queen of Gearrlon asked.

 

“His name is Taibhsear, son of Creideamh, high priest of the Aen Seidhe, and prophet of Essea - the one, true, living God.”

 

“Your Highness,” spoke one of her advisors, “surely you will not seek out this slave.” 

 

The queen pierced the advisor with her fiery-blue eyes so that he quickly bowed his head in deference. She then turned to the young elf.

 

“Bring me this prophet, Taibhsear, little one.”

 

oOo

 

_The City of Golden Towers, Nilfgaard_

 

            “So, that’s my mission, and that’s the plan,” said Malek. “I can’t in good conscience ask any of you to join me, but if you choose to, I’ll be grateful. And know that if you decide to go your own way now, I understand. I won’t think anything less of any of you. You’ve proved your courage and honor to the Empire a hundred times over.”

 

            He was sitting at the head of a table in his living quarters in the royal palace.  Around him were the remnants of “his” men. There were only six of them left, but they’d all been under his command for at least five years, with half of them having ridden with him for decades.  Just as he did before every mission, he briefed his men on the plan of action.  Malek had been leading others long enough to know that clearly communicating with his soldiers was vital to mission success.  While not every detail needed to be shared, he knew that no good leader would ever withhold critical elements of the mission from his subordinates.  To do so lowered morale, and it also caused confusion, disorder, and - if the soldiers lived - total distrust in the commanding officer when the next mission rolled around.

           

            Since leaving the Northern realms, Malek had been pondering what his next course of action should be.  He’d been serving the Empire since he was a teenager – for almost four decades.  It was all he knew.  He wasn’t even sure what else he _could_ do.  But, on the long ship-ride down to the Nilfgaardian capital, he’d been questioning if that was enough anymore. He’d asked himself what was truly important to him now – especially now that he certainly had more years behind him than he had in front.  He’d stood on the deck of the southbound ship, resting his hands on the railing and looking out towards the western horizon – with nothing to see but the waves of the ocean and the clouds in the sky.  He’d taken a folded piece of parchment out of an inside front pocket, handling it very carefully because of its worn and fragile condition.  He’d gently unfolded the paper and peered down at it for what must have been the thousandth time in his life.  As he looked at the charcoal drawing, he breathed very slowly and deeply. Eventually, he clenched his jaw and gave himself a short nod of his head.  It was then that he’d made his decision.

 

            Now, he was going around the table, looking each of his men in the eye.  One by one, they gave him their answer.

 

            “I appreciate you all,” he said with a small smile. “Right, so ready your gear and mounts…do whatever else you need to do tonight.  We’ll ride east at sun-up.”

 

oOo

_Korath Desert_

 

            A relatively uneventful week had passed in the desert, which was just what the four Westerners needed in the aftermath of Azabar. About the only excitement and danger that they had faced had been when they’d come across a small swarm of monstrous flies that the Zerrikanians commonly referred to as tik-tik. The swarm was small – only eight to ten of them – but the flies were not.  They were the size of a man’s closed fist and had the ability to spit a numbing-agent from their mouths that would temporarily paralyze their prey. The witcher had said that their scientific name was _Glosseptera_ and that one bite from them could potentially put a grown man into a long-term coma – and eventually lead to death - if medical attention wasn’t received in time. Luckily, the monster-slayer had dispatched them fairly easily with Igni, a couple of bombs, and his silver sword. 

 

            The group had quickly realized that the best time to travel on the desert sands was during the night and the pre-noon hours – especially considering that they had the witcher’s night vision to point out any dangers in their way after sundown.  Thus, they’d gotten into the habit of resting and sleeping during the hottest hours of the day inside their tent. It was there that the four were having another discussion about what they could expect at the end of their journey.

 

“Do you think it’s actually there?” asked Barcain. “The Sword of Destruction?”

 

            Evie shook her head. “I don’t know…but it wouldn’t surprise me. I mean, Gearrlon - if the stories are even half-true - sounds like just the place the Sword of Destruction would be.”

 

            “And an inanimate object could curse a place like that?” he asked.

 

            “Again, I don’t know. But, why not?”

 

She then spoke to her husband sitting beside her.

 

“Geralt, you’re the expert on curses.  Could an object – like a sword – bring a curse upon an entire city?”

 

            He shrugged. “Curses can be very complicated. They don’t all follow the same rules or act in the same manner. So, it’s hard to say.  I’ve seen houses, towers, palaces – even a tiny island – under a curse, but I don’t recall ever hearing of an entire city under one. It’d have to be one helluva powerful curse, but yeah…it’s possible, in theory. But, if we’re talking about the city being under a curse, then I’m not sure the Sword, itself, has anything to do with it. Those are two separate issues.”

 

            “What do you mean?”

 

            “Well, objects can clearly be cursed – jewelry, bones, even weapons. So, it is possible that the Sword could carry a curse, as well. But, I wouldn’t think that it would affect an entire city.  More than likely, it’d probably just affect whoever was wielding it.  Of course, I could be wrong.  And as long as I’m giving a lesson on curses here, just so you know, most of the time, a curse is focused on a specific individual – not a location or an object - so that no matter where the person goes, the curse goes with them.”

 

            “You’ve broken a lot curses before?” asked Lydial.

 

            “Not every one that I’ve ever come across, but quite a few, yeah.”

 

            “So, then…how do curses vary in strength. What makes one curse more powerful than another?”

 

            “Well, like I said, they’re complicated. It’s not like dealing with a math problem or…an alchemical recipe.  Add one part this, add two parts that and voila, you’ve got a Grade A curse.  I have no proof – this is just my opinion - but I think curses are somehow connected to the Chaos. Just like how the Power is not of this world – it arrived with the Conjunction - curses are not of this plane or realm either. They’re mystical, mysterious.  So, it’s always been my opinion that the strength of the curse is somehow related to how well the person making it is connected to the Power.  It makes sense since the most powerful curses I’ve ever come across were cast by mages. I mean, I know it’s a fairy-tale cliché that evil witches cast curses, but…clichés are clichés for a reason.”

 

            “But even ‘normal’ folk – non-magic users - have cast curses, right?” asked Evie.

 

            “Yeah.  It’s why sometimes curses can even be cast unintentionally. But, typically, only if their emotions are extremely high when they utter their damning words.”

 

            “What kind of emotions, exactly?” asked Lydial.

 

            “Hate,” he said simply.  “Some might argue with me and say that curses can be cast from extreme envy or jealously or vengeance. But, in my experience, even if those emotions are involved, hate is at the foundation. It’s why forgiveness is usually the easiest way to break a curse.”

 

            “Wait,” said Evie. “I’m not sure I follow. How does that work?”

 

            “Well, obviously, it can’t be used in every situation.  But in those circumstances when I have a chance to communicate with the person, or ghost, or…entity that cast the curse in the first place, then I try to encourage them towards forgiveness.”

 

            “And that actually works?” asked Lydial.

 

            “If they’re _truly_ willing, yes. Think about it – if hate is what fueled the curse, then forgiveness can break it…because it is _impossible_ to truly forgive someone if you still hate them.  It just can’t be done. To forgive means to let go of the anger. And when the hate goes, the curse goes.”

 

            “So, how often does that work – getting the ‘curser’ to forgive the ‘cursee’?” asked Evie.

 

            Geralt smirked. “Hardly ever. Shocking, right?”

 

            “So, if you’re correct in your assumptions,” interjected Lydial, “then the most powerful curses would be those tied to both intense hate and to high amounts of magical Chaos, right?”

 

            The witcher looked everyone in the eye and nodded.

 

            “And that could be awaiting us in Gearrlon,” said Lydial.

 

            Again, the witcher nodded his head.

 

            “Swell,” said Evie.

 

oOo

 

_The City of Golden Towers, Nilfgaard_

            “Fringilla, sweetheart, don’t tease me,” said Donato Vigo, excitement clearly in his voice. “Are you absolutely sure?”

 

            “Well, no, not 100% sure,” answered his cousin. “Once those monsters showed up, we got out of the city as fast as possible.  So, I don’t know exactly what happened to Emhyr’s army – or Radovid’s for that matter.  But, given what kind of total destruction I saw those monsters do in Novigrad, I’d be shocked if there’s a stone left standing in Tretogor.  And, I have to believe that most – if not all – of Emhyr’s forces were wiped out, as well.”

 

            “That’s incredible news!”

 

            “I’m glad you think so.”

 

            “Gilla, sweetie, you’re missing the big picture here. Don’t you see? Emhyr’s reign is essentially over. There is no possible way he can recover from such a defeat.  Yes, it’s a shame that our poor, young, brave lads had to die, but he’ll get the blame for that and rightfully so.” Donato was now smiling widely, his eyes looking off into the distance. “Oh, I can just picture the noose slipping around that arrogant tyrant’s throat. He has spurned our family’s overtures for the last time.”

 

            When Fringilla didn’t respond, he looked back down at her.  He then frowned.

 

            “Why aren’t you excited? This is what we wanted. The Vigo’s at the top of society, where we belong.  With my connections to both the other nobles and to the trades’ council, I should be crowned Nilfgaard’s new ruler before the month is up.  And you…Fringilla Vigo, Duchess of Toussaint…has a nice ring to it, right?”

 

            She gave a small smile. “What more could a girl hope for?”

 

            Donato, his thoughts now a whirlwind in his mind, missed her tone.

 

            “So, what of Malek?” he asked. 

 

            “What about him?”

 

            “Well, is he on our side? Can he be trusted? Should I keep him on staff once I’m coronated?”

 

            “I…I don’t know yet,” she answered tentatively.

 

            “Gilla, you can’t be serious.  You’ve been working the man for months.  You must have him under your…prodigious charms by now, right?” At that, Donato glanced at his cousin’s impressive cleavage with all the subtlety of a rampaging chort.

 

            “I don’t know whose side he’s on, Donato. All I know right now is that he’s still planning on pursuing the historian. One of his spies contacted him recently with more news on the woman. He’s leaving the capital in the morning.”

 

            The smile fell off Donato’s face.  “Why would he continue with Emhyr’s mission? You mentioned earlier that you thought he was done working for Emhyr.”

 

            “Exactly - I _think_. I don’t _know_. It’s just the feeling I’ve had since we left Redania.  He still doesn’t tell me much.  He’s happy to share his bed, just not his thoughts. So, I still don’t know what his ultimate motivation is in pursuing the woman.”

 

            “Huh…well, no matter.  Even if Malek can track down whatever it is that Emhyr wants, it’s too late.  Nothing will save him now.” Then he paused for a moment. “Though, I am still curious as to why this historian is so important.  It might be a good idea to keep up your charade with the man. Perhaps, they’ll both be useful to my new empire. I can determine that later. Right now, I have other priorities. Either way, it looks like you’ll need to pack a bag.”

 

            Fringilla curtsied and said sarcastically, “Yes, Your Highness.”

 

            Donato smiled. “Oh, I do love the sound of that.”

oOo

 

_Azabar_

 

            Philippa Eilhart stepped out of a portal and onto the balcony of her hotel room.  Oran was there, reclining on the soft cushions of the sofa and drinking a cool beverage.

He came alert upon his sister’s presence.

 

            “So?” he asked.

 

            “It appears that they are traveling in the right direction.  So, clearly, the historian - and not that fool witcher - must be leading them. I’ll fly over and check on them again tomorrow, but, by my calculations, they should arrive in Gearrlon in two days.”

 

            “Where we’ll already be waiting and watching.”

 

            “Indeed,” she answered. “Now give me that drink.”

 

oOo

_The royal palace of Gearrlon_

 

            The young servant girl – escorted by multiple guards – found Taibhsear in his hut that he shared with his family.  After being informed that the queen had demanded his presence in her throne room, he pleaded to the guards for five minutes to collect his things.  He rushed to his bedroom, where he fell on his knees and sought Essea’s wisdom.  This request from the queen was not unexpected. For over a month, Taibhsear had been hearing the voice of God, telling the prophet and priest that he would lead the Aen Seidhe out of Gearrlon.

 

            Less than a half-hour later, Taibhsear stood before Aerensoska.

 

            “Can you interpret this vision, prophet?” she asked after she had finished recounting the details of the recurring and unsettling dream.

 

            “Your Highness, no wise enchanter, mage, or diviner can truly explain the mystery of your dream. But, there is a God in heaven who reveals mysteries. He has shown Queen Aerensoska a glimpse into the days to come.”

 

            “You did not answer my question, prophet. Do not make me ask a second time,” she warned with a touch of annoyance.

           

            “Your Highness, I do have knowledge of the mystery of your dream, but not because I am wiser than anyone else in Gearrlon. Only because Essea, the God above, has chosen to reveal it to me so that you may heed his warning.”

 

            “So, it is a portent.”

 

            “Yes, Your Majesty.”

 

            “Explain.”

 

            “The bright, yellow sunflower growing up from the sand represents you, Your Highness.”

 

            “And the dozens of black snakes slithering in a circle around the flower?”

 

            Taibhsear looked around the throne room at the guards and the mage council all listening intently.

 

            “They are humans, Your Majesty. Specifically, your council of mages.”

 

            The venomous uproar that followed was expected, but the queen silenced them all with a look and a single word.

 

            “Continue, prophet,” she ordered, after quiet was restored.

 

            “Then, the vipers burrow into the sand and bite the roots of the flower.  It transforms from the bright, yellow flower into the dark, shriveled plant with a carnivorous maw at its head.  A maw full of teeth, constantly devouring the butterflies in the air around it. This represents how you have let man change you. How you have been…corrupted, Your Majesty.”

 

            There was an audible sucking in of breath throughout the throne room. The queen did not react in any way other than a slight narrowing of her eyes so Taibhsear continued.

 

            “The devouring of the butterflies signifies how you took the Aen Seidhe from their land and enslaved them here.”

 

            “So far, prophet, your interpretation is only describing details that have already happened.  You had me to believe that this dream predicts future events.”

 

            “Yes, Your Highness, that is next,” Taibhsear said.  “The plant and the snakes withering in the blazing sun and, then, being completely covered by the sand storm will be God’s judgment on you and your city…if you do not free the Aen Seidhe to return to our homeland.”

 

            After a short pause, he pressed forward with speaking.

 

“Similar to you having received visions, I have received a word from our God, Essea, in these last weeks.  And this is his message to you, Your Majesty, ‘The Aen Seidhe have been exiled for ten score. I have heard their cries of mercy, and now, the time of their discipline is fulfilled. Let my chosen return home.’”

 

            The throne room was utterly quiet.

 

            “Leave me, prophet,” the queen finally spoke. “You have given me much to think about.”

 

oOo

 

_Korath Desert_

 

            “This has got to be it,” said Evie with excitement in her voice.  She was standing on top of a large sand dune, skimming through the notes in her hand. “Professor Uziraiha said that it was a ten-day journey. He indicated that there was a large valley or depression between two high hills, and that there were dozens of small undulations within the valley. Also, that it had what seemed to be a dry river bed running through its center.”

 

            Barcain looked around them in the early morning sunlight.  “Well, this place does look like what you’re describing,” he said in agreement. “Where did he say the entrance was?”

 

            Evie had completely memorized her notes, but she turned to the correct page just out of habit.

 

            “A larger mound – a small hill - near the center of the valley, west of the dry river bed.”

 

            “That’s gotta be it, right there,” said Lydial, pointing down and slightly to her left.

 

            “Only one way to find out,” said the witcher, unsheathing his silver sword. “Everyone stay here.  Stay on your camels.  And if you hear me yell, you take off. Got it?”

 

He was talking to all of them, but he was staring at his wife as he spoke. Lydial and Barcain nodded in understanding, but Evie just stared right back at him with a frown on her face. She didn’t shake her head in the negative, but neither did she nod in the affirmative. The witcher just sighed.  He knew that she’d never leave him behind, even if it meant her death, too.

 

oOo

_The royal palace of Gearrlon_

 

            Queen Aerensoska and her six mage-advisors sat around the table in her council chambers.

 

            “I must say that I am surprised,” said the queen. “I expected resistance from all of you regarding this decision.”

 

            “Your Highness,” said the eldest of her councilors, “it is true that I was initially hesitant with your proposed decree. The Aen Seidhe slaves play a vital role in our society.  But, your wisdom surpasses all, Your Majesty.  If you believe that their release will save our great city, then by all means...” He finished with a bow of his head.

 

            The rest of the council mumbled their agreement.

 

            “Let us raise our cups to our Magnificence,” said another mage. “And to the day our city was led in a new, enlightened direction.”

 

            This toast was answered with all raising and drinking from their cups. As the queen set her chalice back down on the table, all the mages slowly turned their eyes upon her.

 

            Suddenly, her eyes bulged slightly as her throat constricted.  She felt a tightening in her chest, and she knew what had been done. She stood and glared at her treasonous council around her. Her breathing was coming fast and shallow.

 

            “May the world see you as the monsters that you are,” she snarled before falling to the floor.

 

            A second later, the first mage was standing over her, looking into her still open eyes and holding her cup in his hand.

 

            “The paralyzing venom of the tik-tik. It worked much faster than I thought,” he said with a smile. “Goodbye, my queen.”

 

oOo

 

_Korath Desert_

 

            The witcher had searched – for the last quarter of an hour - on every side of the mound for some type of entrance.  He’d even climbed on top of the sandy hill but found nothing at the summit either.  As he was walking back down the other side, he stopped when he saw a small crevice.  The way it was angled, it would have been impossible to see from below. He hopped down into the crevice and quickly saw that one side of it was not made of soil but of man-made stone.  He nodded to himself, thinking that he’d finally found some remnant of Gearrlon. He saw a dark opening at one end of the crevice so he walked over and peered down into it.  The drop only looked to be about ten feet. At that point, he really wished his medallion was functioning. He sheathed his sword and let himself down feet first.

 

Geralt landed on his feet and moved quickly away from the loose sand pouring down on his head. He looked around and saw that he was standing in the ruins of a stone building.  He appeared to be in some type of entryway. On the opposite side of the room were two large doors that were wide open. There were no other doors, windows, or openings in the room.

 

The witcher simply stood still for the longest time, letting his senses take over, but there were no strange noises or smells.  Eventually, he walked slowly over to the doorway and saw that on the other side of the threshold was a long, descending staircase.  He stood at the top step and looked down.  There were no railings on the stone staircase, and on either side was a drop-off into darkness.  Even with his enhanced vision, he couldn’t see all the way to the bottom.  Then, suddenly, he caught the scent of a very familiar odor.  The smell of decaying flesh was wafting up from below. The witcher simply nodded, as if he’d been expecting it.

 

The witcher reached into his pouch and pulled out three potions, one of which was Cat. After drinking down the contents, he took his sword and pressed the tip of it onto the top of the second step with as much force as he could. It held firm. He exhaled deeply and then began descending into the darkness.

 

oOo

 

            Philippa, in her owl form, circled high above the ruins of Gearrlon.  She saw the witcher find the crevice located on the small hill and then jump down into it. She was so very tempted to fly down right then and follow the witcher below, but she knew she shouldn’t show herself too soon.  She needed to wait until he found the Sword.  And if the witcher, like Gigglethorpe, died in his attempt to obtain it – that wouldn’t be such a bad outcome, either, she thought.  At least, then, she’d never have to deal with the fool again. She glanced back towards the southeast and saw the three others waiting, still sitting atop their camels. She flapped her wings and flew off towards the west, to a tall sand dune behind which hid her brother.

 

oOo

 

Several minutes later, the witcher finally made it to the bottom of the staircase. He looked around and saw that he was in an enormous hall.  On the other side of the hall from where he stood - easily a hundred feet away - was a raised dais, on top of which was a large sarcophagus.  He quickly looked to his left and right and saw a dozen thick, circular pillars throughout the hall that he assumed reached all the way to the room’s ceiling. He could only assume because from where he now stood, he could no longer see the top.  The pillars just faded into the darkness.

 

The witcher began to tentatively walk forward across the hall towards the dais. As he made his way past one of the pillars, he saw dragons in various poses carved into the stone. He was halfway across the hall when what he saw next made him completely stop.

 

There were six very large statues, three on his left and three on his right.  They lined the walkway and were facing each other.  It appeared to the witcher that they had been placed specifically to look like sentries.  He’d never seen anything like them. They all looked like the end result of some crazed sorcerer’s experiment – experiments to create centaur-like creatures, half-man and half-monster.  On the floor around them were mutilated corpses and random body parts that looked relatively fresh.  The witcher suspected they’d all been down there just a little over a week.  Whoever they were – it had clearly not gone well for them.

 

Two of the stone statues were twelve-foot tall vipers whose bottom halves were coiled on the floor and whose top halves were raised up, poised to strike.  However, the top half was human – or, at least, partly human.  It had a human’s chest, arms, and head, but on either side of the head were two large snake heads. All three heads’ mouths were agape, with fangs bared. Even the human mouth possessed viper fangs.  

 

The next set of statues were a cross between a human and a giant scorpion.  They looked just like the Aculeomorphs that the witcher had fought the previous week in Kradesh except that coming out of the top of the monster’s thorax was a human upper torso and head.  The human part of the monster carried two long spears in its hands, which seemed to match the fifteen-foot-long tail that was curled forward over the top of the human head. The statues were as big as a fiend.

 

The last two statues, which also towered over the witcher, were half man, half giant lizard.  The lizard’s mouth was open, displaying rows and rows of sharp teeth, and protruding from the mouth was a very long, tendril-like tongue.  The human part of the monster held a long whip in each hand.

 

The statues looked like they were made of stone or marble, but he could swear that the eyes – of both the monsters’ heads and the human heads – were following him when he moved. The witcher cursed under breath and, again, wished that his medallion still detected magic. These had to be the nightmares that Uzi had described seeing all those years ago. He didn’t know who or what brought the statues to life, but he hoped that whatever it was would hold off until he was out of the area. He wasn’t sure if he would be able to kill even one of those monsters much less all six.

 

With his silver sword drawn, he kept his body turning in a slow circle as he walked past all six statues.  He didn’t want to expose his back to any of them for more than a second. Eventually, he made it past all six statues and was now only fifteen feet from the sarcophagus. He kept backpedaling slowly, focused on the statues, until he felt the back of his foot bump against the first step of the dais.

 

The witcher’s breaths were very slow and deliberate, and he was doing his best to control his heartrate.  He needed to stay calm. He took one last look at the statues, breathed out slowly, and then turned to look at the sarcophagus, five feet above him.  He looked around the top of the dais, but didn’t see any other furnishings.  However, on the wall behind the sarcophagus was one of the biggest tapestries the witcher had ever seen.  On it was depicted a Golden Dragon, its wings spread wide and fire spewing from its mouth. He exhaled slowly again, swallowed, and then raised his left foot into the air.  As soon as he placed it down on the first step on the dais, an apparition suddenly materialized at the top of the steps. The witcher’s eyes went wide.

 

oOo

 

            “I’m not waiting any longer,” said Evie. “He’s been gone too long.  Something’s happened to him.”

 

            “I agree,” said Lydial.

 

            Without even bothering to hear what Barcain thought, Evie urged her camel forward and down the dune towards where they’d last seen Geralt.  She dismounted when she arrived at the large mound and looked behind her to see that her two kin had followed.  They quickly hobbled their camels so that they couldn’t flee into the desert and leave them stranded, and then they climbed the hill towards where they’d seen Geralt disappear. 

 

oOo

 

 Geralt took his foot off the first step and placed it back down on the floor.

 

The witcher glanced at the specter from head to toe, taking in every detail as quickly as possible.  It was not a deadly wraith, but a ghost still in human form – a stunningly beautiful female form that shimmered with a golden glow. In fact, it was, without a doubt, the most beautiful ghost he’d ever seen. She had long, pale hair, on top of which she wore a crown, the points of which looked like flames.  In addition to the crown, she had jewels around her neck, wrists, and fingers, and she was dressed in an exquisite dress of regal-appearance, though it did seem to be from a different time period.

 

The ghost was silent for the longest time, staring at the witcher just as he was doing to her.  Then, she slowly glided down the steps toward the monster-slayer until she stopped just a foot away.  She was clearly invading his space, and he didn’t like it. He wanted to bring his silver sword up into a defensive position, but he refrained, keeping his blade down at his side.  He knew that he was taking a gamble, but, hell, the entire trip down there had been a gamble.  She gazed at him with a curious look, and then she spoke.

 

oOo

 

            Five minutes later, Barcain found the crevice halfway up one side of the mound and called Evie and Lydial over.  They looked into the crevice and saw the black hole on one end.

 

            “Damn it,” said Evie. “I didn’t even think about needing torches. I’ll go down and get them. I’ll be right back.”

 

oOo

 

“I’m sorry,” the witcher said, “but I can’t understand you.”

 

The ghost had spoken in a language that Geralt had never heard before.

 

“I said…that you have the eyes of a dragon,” she replied in perfect Common. “Are you human?”

 

Her voice held a touch of haughtiness. It reminded him of Yennefer’s.

 

The witcher shook his head. “No. I’m a witcher.”

 

“I am unfamiliar with that word. What are witchers?”

 

“Mutated beings, created to kill dangerous monsters.”

 

“Created by whom?”

 

“Originally, by humans. Later, by other witchers.”

 

“Created by humans to kill dangerous monsters,” the beautiful ghost repeated. Then she shook her head and a sneer came to her face. “Humans _are_ the most dangerous monsters.”

 

Geralt nodded. “I _am_ aware.”

 

“What is your name, witcher?”

 

“Geralt. And yours?”

 

 “I am Aerensoska, once mighty Queen of Gearrlon. Now, the queen of desolation.” She paused for just a moment before continuing. “You have come here for a reason, witcher, and I ask everyone who comes the same question. But, choose your answer carefully. How you respond could have severe consequences. My question - what do you seek here?”

 

The witcher slowly sheathed his sword to buy himself some time. As he looked into Aerensoska’s mesmerizingly-beautiful face, his mind went through a dozen possible answers.  Finally, he spoke.

 

“Your Majesty, what would happen if I choose not to answer?”

 

“Curious. None have ever chosen _not_ to answer.”

 

“Would you allow me to leave?”

 

Aerensoska thought for a moment before answering. “Yes, but you’d be required to leave a payment, for disturbing me.”

 

“And that would be?”

 

“Your sword would suffice.”

 

Geralt cursed to himself.

 

“If I leave my sword but return later to answer your question, will I be able to have my sword back?”

 

The ghost smiled, but it was chilling. “That, witcher, depends upon your answer.”

 

The witcher nodded and slowly unsheathed his silver sword. He then knelt in front of Aerensoska, never taking his eyes off of hers, and placed the sword at her feet.

 

He then stood and said, “I’ll be back.”

 

“And I’ll be waiting.”

 

oOo

 

After tossing a lit torch down into the dark room, Barcain stuck his head down into the hole at the end of the crevice to look around.  Not seeing any clear danger, he dropped into the hole himself, and then he proceeded to help both Lydial and Evie as they dropped feet first onto the stone floor.  At that point, he picked up his torch, and Lydial and Evie lit theirs from his.

 

Evie looked across the room and said, “Looks like we’re going down.”

 

As the three of them approached the dark stairwell, the witcher suddenly appeared before them as if a ghost.

 

All three screamed or yelled.

 

“Damn it, Geralt!” screamed Evie. “What have I told you about sneaking up on me? You move too quiet. You know that.” 

 

Then, she hugged him tightly with one arm.

 

“I was so worried.”

 

“You have a right to be.  What Uzi described to us - it’s real, and it’s down there.”

 

“But, you’re…you’re safe. So…what happened?” she asked, confused.

 

Geralt quickly explained to the three just what he’d seen and done down in the crypt.

 

“Well, we know that the answer to her question is not ‘knowledge,’” said Evie.  “According to Uzi, that was his answer, and it turned into a massacre. What answer would not cause the monsters to come alive?”

 

Evie seemed to be asking herself more than Geralt.  She then looked at him.

 

“Did you ask her any questions?”

 

“Other than her name, I don’t think so.”

 

“Do you think she’d be open to answering some of our questions before we give her an answer. Maybe talking to her will give us some clues.”

 

“There’s no ‘we’ in this,” the witcher said. “There’s no way any of you are going down there.  If I give the wrong answer, we’ll _all_ be slaughtered.  After seeing what’s down there, I honestly don’t know how Uzi escaped.”

 

“Geralt, if you’re going back down there, then I’m going with you,” said Evie with conviction.

 

“We could die, Evie.”

 

She then looked him squarely in the eyes. “Then, I’ll die with my husband.”

 

Geralt just shook his head, clearly frustrated.

 

“Remember what you told me?” asked Evie.  “Wherever I go, you go. Well, it’s the same with me. In fact, I should have gone down there with you in the first place. Just like I should have gone up the mountain with you to that witcheress’ house. _In fact_ , no more going off by yourself anymore. It’s a new rule.”

 

 Geralt didn’t say anything for several seconds. “Damn, you can be hard-headed.”

 

She gave a small smile. “About the things that matter – like you.”

 

He shook his head again.

 

“Okay,” he said with resignation in his voice. He then looked at Lydial and Barcain.

 

“What about you two? Gonna stubbornly march to your death, as well?”

 

“Yes,” said Lydial, “but I think we should pray first.”

 

“That actually sounds like a good idea,” said the witcher.

 

oOo

 

            “You are Aen Seidhe,” said Aerensoska, staring at Lydial.  Before any of the four Westerners could even address her, the queen had spoken to the full-blood elf.

 

            “I am, Your Majesty,” replied Lydial.

 

            “And do you, perchance, know the Aen Seidhe God?”

 

            “I do. His name is Essea.”

 

            “Have you ever seen him?”

 

            “Not in a physical sense, no. But, spiritually, yes.  And I’ve seen him work his wonders in my life - in subtle, quiet ways.”

 

            “I have seen him neither, but, like you, I have seen him work. But his ways were neither subtle nor quiet.”

 

            “I would truly love to hear of your experience with him, Your Highness,” said Lydial.

 

            Aerensoska gazed at Lydial for a moment before making up her mind. For the next half hour, she told the four of her history, from the moment she arrived in the world until she was poisoned by her mage council.

 

            “The council told the Gearrlon citizens that I had died by natural causes and buried me here in this sarcophagus. But, I was not dead. At least, not yet. My magic fought off the poison for as long as it could.  Though I was mostly paralyzed, it kept my brain and internal organs working.  Eventually though, I succumbed – to the poison or, perhaps, to simply dehydration. I don’t suppose it matters now. However, my last words acted as a curse, and the traitorous men of my council began to slowly transform into the true monsters that they are.  The hideous beasts you see there.”  She pointed to the six statues. “But, for reasons unknown to me, I, like them, cannot pass on. It seems I’m cursed, as well.  To stay here in this ruined crypt, as the Queen of Desolation, with nothing but my enemies to keep me company for eternity, regretting that I ever listened to that merchant of glass.  And that, then, brings us to your God, Essea.”

 

            “Yes. You said that you saw Essea at work. What exactly did he do?” asked Lydial.

 

            “Taibhsear was informed by the council – the new oligarchy of Gearrlon – that the Aen Seidhe would not be permitted to return to their homeland. The next day, thousands of tik-tik swarmed the city.  I did not see this, as I was in my sarcophagus, but my council has told me of what transpired.  The insects completely destroyed the city’s crops, and half the residents were bitten.  No Aen Seidhe, though.  An amazing coincidence, no?” she asked with raised eyebrows.

 

            “Then, the next day, the oasis and the rivers flowing from it dried up. Filled with nothing but sand.  Nothing the mages did could counteract whatever was happening. On the third day, fire and rock rained down from the sky, destroying all Gearrlon homes. Killing thousands more. Turning everything into rubble. It was only then that the ‘wise’ council allowed the Aen Seidhe to leave.

 

            “But it was too late to save the city.  The few citizens who remained alive fled into the desert.  I don’t know what happened to them, but I doubt it was pleasant. If they were able to make it to Haakland or Zerrikania, I’m sure they were killed for what we had done.  The fourth day, a sandstorm came to the city and lasted for weeks, burying the ruins of the city under the desert.  Where I and my _faithful_ advisors have been ever since.

 

            “So, yes, I have seen – indirectly – your God’s hand at work.  His wrath…his judgment is a terrible thing.  And he punishes me still all these centuries later. That is all that I can think.  His prophet said that I had become corrupted.  It is true. I was once a peaceful Golden Dragon, like all Golden Dragons.  But I fell prey to the human heart’s insatiable quest for power.  I brought shame on my kind, and I have had to live with that all these years. That must be why I still haunt this ruined city instead of moving on to the next realm.”

 

            After hearing Aerensoska’s story, the four didn’t immediately reply.  They were still just trying to process everything she’d said.

 

            “Now you know of my sad tale of woe. So, I will ask you…what do you seek here?”

 

            The four were looking around at each other, waiting for someone to come up with a brilliant idea.  Evie thought about everything that she’d just heard Aerensoska say.  She thought about all the different answers that she might give. She knew that “knowledge” was the wrong answer to give.  She also figured that things like riches, power, and glory would lead to a similar outcome.  Those were the typical answers that men would give. And, then, she simply thought about the truth. Why not just tell her the truth?  If Essea truly was leading her on this quest, then he’d give her the right words to say.

 

            “We seek peace, Your Highness,” said Evie.

 

            Aerensoska turned her head and carefully appraised Evie.

 

“Curious,” said the queen. “How do you expect to find peace out here, in the ruins of Gearrlon?”

 

            “We want to find a powerful sword. The Sword of Destruction. Did the Aen Seidhe bring it here with them?” Evie asked.

 

            Suddenly, Aerensoska’s countenance changed.  The anger was visible on her face.

 

            “So, you have deceived me,” she said. “You want power after all – like all humans.”

 

            At that point, Geralt heard noises coming from behind him. He turned to see that the statues’ eyes were glowing red and that their limbs were coming to life.

 

            “Wait, wait!” yelled Evie. “We want to destroy the Sword! We want to destroy it!”

 

            Aerensoska lifted a hand, and suddenly the statues turned back to stone.

 

            “Explain yourself, little one.”

 

            “There are others – many others – who seek this sword for its power.  We seek it so that we can destroy it. So that no one else can ever use it again.”

 

            Evie then went on to explain to Aerensoska what she knew of the Sword of Destruction.

 

            “And you thought this sword was here?” asked the queen after Evie had finished.

 

“We had hoped.”

 

Aerensoska shook her head. “It was never here. If it is as powerful as you say, my magic would have sensed it.”

 

Upon hearing that, Barcain cursed.  

 

“All this way for nothing. Who else is ready to get out of this place?” he asked as he turned and headed towards the staircase.

 

Lydial thanked Aerensoska for sharing her story, and then she, too, headed after Barcain.

 

Geralt looked at the queen and then down to the floor at his sword. “May I?”

 

“Yes, witcher. Take your sword.”

 

He nodded his head in both thanks and deference, sheathed his sword, and then looked at his wife.

 

“Come on, Evie. It’s time to go.”

 

He started to walk away, expecting Evie to be right behind him, but when he turned around, she was still standing in front of and facing Aerensoska.  After moving back to her side, he quickly glanced at the shimmering specter before looking back his wife.

 

“Evie, what’s going on?”

 

“I want to help her.” Then, to Aerensoska, she said, “I want to help you.”

 

The apparition smiled. “How do you propose to do that, little one?”

 

“You said that you think that you’re stuck here as a ghost – not allowed to move on - as punishment from Essea. But, what if it’s not because of him? What if it’s due to a curse. My husband is an expert on curses. He says that they’re complicated. That they don’t always act the way you think they will, and that, sometimes, they can be cast unintentionally.”

 

“Who is your husband?”

 

Evie smiled and nodded her head to her right. “This guy.”

 

A small smile came to Aerensoska’s face.

 

“Is that true?” she asked, addressing the monster-slayer.

 

The witcher nodded.

 

“Geralt, could her curse against the mages be what trapped her here?”

 

“Yeah, anything’s possible.” 

 

“So, if her curse against them was broken, then maybe she’d be free to move on?”

 

“Again, it’s possible.”

 

“So, what do I have to do to break the curse?” asked Aerensoska, looking at Geralt.

 

“It’s simple, but it’s _not_ easy.  You’ll need to genuinely forgive them for what they did to you.”

 

“Not easy?” remarked the specter.  “I’d say that’s next to impossible.”

 

The witcher nodded. “I understand. You just have to ask yourself what’s more important – hanging on to the anger and bitterness…or being free.”

 

“You _don’t_ understand. They do not _deserve_ my forgiveness.”

 

“With all due respect, Your Highness,” said Geralt. “No one _deserves_ forgiveness. It’s not something that can be earned.  Judgment is earned. Forgiveness can only be freely given.  In truth, forgiveness is not even _really_ about them. It’s about you.”

 

Aerensoska stared at the witcher, taking in his words.  She then looked at the six statues behind him for a long time. Evie and Geralt gazed at her, then at each other, and back to her, again. Eventually, she glided down the steps and along the middle of the hall until she was standing in front of her former council of mages. She slowly spun in a circle looking at each one.

 

“I do not excuse your actions. But…I think a thousand years is long enough for all of us to be condemned here.”  She nodded her head. “May you be free to go wherever the God of the Aen Seidhe deems appropriate. We have seen his just wrath, and a part of me wishes that you would experience even more of it.” Then, the queen sighed. “However, after a millennium of reflecting on my own violent, heinous actions since coming into this world, I see that I am no better than any of you.  Therefore, I forgive you, and may he show mercy to us all.”

 

Suddenly, the statues began to glow with a bright, red light that lit up the entire hall. Both Geralt and Evie shielded their eyes.  After a few seconds, the glow diminished. They looked to see that the statues were still there, but the living, red eyes were no longer present.  In the middle of the hall, standing where Aerensoska had been was an enormous Golden Dragon apparition, shimmering in yellow.

 

The dragon took a step towards Geralt and Evie and then lowered her massive head to be closer to them. She then laughed, which sounded very strange coming from a dragon’s throat.

 

“It worked. It actually worked.” She laughed again. “Who would have ever thought? I was trapped here all this time in a prison of my own making.  Thank you, little one. Thank you, witcher. If you still seek the exiled Aen Seidhe, then I recommend traveling due west towards the Duilichinn Pass in the Tir Torchair Mountains.  That’s the name that the Aen Seidhe called the pass that we used when both invading the West and returning home. It’s logical that they took it as well on their return to their homeland.”

 

“Thank you for that information, Aerensoska,” said Geralt.

 

“No, Geralt, I thank the two of you.  And may you find the peace that you’re looking for,” the Golden Dragon said, an instant before vanishing away.

 

High above in the darkness, perched on the edge of a pillar, was a brownish-gray owl who had heard and seen everything.

 


	20. Chapter 20

_Korath Desert_

 

            “Where’s Barcain?” asked Lydial after she woke up from her late-afternoon nap. She, Evie, and Geralt were in their tent, protected from the still-blazing sun.

 

            “Where do you think?” replied Evie.

 

            Lydial shook her head. “Same time every day. I swear, his bowel movements are as regular as the sunrise.”

 

            Evie smiled. “I’m just thankful he rides off over the next hill.”

 

            “Yeah,” said Geralt. “I’m thankful you all do.”

 

            “I don’t know what you’re talking about. Mine smells like roses,” she said with a straight face.

 

            “Super sensitive smelling, remember?” the witcher said, pointing to his nose.

 

            “All right, can we change the subject, please?” Evie asked, her face turning red.

 

            “That actually sounds good,” said Geralt, “because I’ve got a question that’s been on my mind since yesterday, and that is – what’s next?”

 

            “What do you mean?” asked Lydial.

 

            “What I mean is that we found neither the Sword nor any more Essean texts at Gearrlon, and we have no more clues regarding either. I’m all for continuing on to the Duilichinn Pass because it’s the quickest way back to the Continent, but unless you two have some information that I don’t, then after we get west of the Tir Torchair Mountains, the trail is dead and cold, right? Didn’t you both say that there’s virtually nothing written down anywhere with regards to the Aen Seidhe’s return from exile?” 

 

            Both Evie and Lydial nodded.

 

            “Right,” said Geralt. “Which means that this adventure is over.”

 

            “But, what about Emhyr?” asked Evie. “We can’t let him get the Sword.”

 

            “Evie, I’m pretty sure he’ll never lay his hands on it. If you – the best historian on the Continent – can’t find it, then no one can.  So, how about we go home?”

 

A very large smile came to Evie’s face. “To Corvo Bianco?”

 

“If that’s what you want,” replied the witcher with a small smile of his own. “If that’s where you want our home to be. My home is with you, wherever.”

 

“What about Lydial and Barcain?”

 

“They’re more than welcome. We need more grape pickers,” he said with a grin. Then, he looked at Lydial.  “All joking aside – you’re welcome to come live there with us. In fact, I’d be disappointed if you didn’t.”

 

“Thank you, Geralt. That’s a gracious offer,” said the elf. “And I’ll probably accept, but, first, I would like to go back to Dol Blathanna. I’m very curious to see how many new Aen Seidhe babies have been born in the last several months.”

 

“Oh, yeah,” said Evie. “That totally slipped my mind.”

 

She then looked Geralt in the eye. 

 

“Well, even if we weren’t able to destroy the Sword, this wasn’t a complete waste, right?  At least some good came out of this whole mess.”

 

The witcher nodded his head.

 

“Evie, _a lot_ of good has happened since I first met you.”

 

oOo

 

_Santoh, Gemmera_

 

            Fringilla had her eyes open in the dark, staring at the ceiling above, with Malek next to her fast asleep.  She was feverishly debating what she should do.  In the last four weeks, she’d become more and more frustrated with the man because, ever since Novigrad, he’d become increasingly closed off. And in the last four days – since leaving Nilfgaard’s capital – it had just gotten worse. Before, he’d at least share a bit with her with regards to what the mission’s objective was, but now, he no longer told her anything. As mistrustful as he seemed to be of her, she was honestly surprised that he’d even let her come along in the first place.  

 

But, it was more than simply his distrust of her that had her on edge.  He was also acting quite suspiciously.  Each day, for the last four days, he’d halt his men around the same time of the afternoon.  While he allowed them to rest and water their horses, he’d ride off a distance and set up his megascope. Two days ago, after using the megascope, he’d returned and informed his men – and her – that they’d be heading in a new direction.  In the last forty-eight hours, their path had veered more to the northeast towards the Imlebar River that came down out of the Tir Torchair Mountains, bisected the duchy of Gemmera and ran westward toward the Great Sea.  She wondered just who he’d been talking to via the megascope, but, of course, he didn’t say a word.

 

More so, in the last couple of weeks, she’d also caught him staring at a parchment that he kept in the front, inner pocket of his gambeson.  She knew that he thought he was being discreet and that no one had seen him, but she had. In their first few months together, she’d never seen him pull this parchment out once. Now, he seemed to be doing it at least once a day whenever he thought he was unobserved.  She knew better than to even ask him about it, but that didn’t mean she wasn’t curious. And that was the cause of the debate now going on in her mind.

 

She wanted desperately to slip out of bed and rifle through his clothes to look at the parchment, but she didn’t know how long it’d be until his nightmares would start and, then, wake him up.  Should she try now, before the nightmares, or wait until after they were over?  She knew that sometimes he never went back to sleep after the nightmares came.  Therefore, she probably needed to risk it now.

 

She suddenly realized that it was too late. Malek was moaning and mumbling next to her, meaning his nightmares had begun. A couple of minutes later, she heard him wake from his dream, breathing hard, and for once, she didn’t try to comfort him. She just feigned that she was still asleep. Eventually, she felt him rise from the bed and splash some water on his face from the nearby basin.  She unconsciously held her breath when, after hearing him put on his trousers and boots, he left their room in the small inn where they’d stopped earlier in the evening. She didn’t know where he was going, but she didn’t care. This was her chance.

 

After hearing the door of the room shut, she got out of bed and rushed over to Malek’s gambeson that was draped over the back of a nearby chair.  She reached into the front pocket and felt the parchment on her fingertips.  She quickly looked over her shoulder at the door before pulling it out and carefully unfolding it. While holding the paper in her right hand, she cast a small flame with her left.  The flame lit up the darkness in front of her, and she looked down to see a drawing of a woman that, to Fringilla’s surprise, looked just like Professor Evangeline VanderBosch.

 

            _“What in the world,”_ thought Fringilla.  This wasn’t one of the wanted posters of the history professor.  This was much older. In fact, it looked to be many years old. And there was no writing on the front.  Why would Malek have this? She was about to turn the parchment over to see if there was anything written on the back when she heard a noise behind her.

 

“You’re losing your touch, Fringilla. Pretty sloppy spy-craft.  You should’ve rummaged through my clothes earlier when I was taking a bath,” said Malek, now standing in front of the room’s closed door. “Just exactly what are you looking for?”

 

“This,” she said, holding up the parchment.  In a flash, she’d decided to turn the situation back on him, to put him on the defensive.

 

“This is what I’m searching for. And now I’ll ask you a question. This looks like a picture of the history professor, but it’s clearly not recent.  Just who is this woman? What is she to you, Malek?”

 

“That’s not Evangeline…and please be careful with it.”

 

“Evangeline? Don’t you mean Professor VanderBosch?”

 

“No. I call her Evangeline. She’s…my niece,” said Malek. “And that’s not her in the picture. It’s her mother.”

 

Fringilla narrowed her eyes at Malek. “Her mother?”

 

Malek nodded. “Yes, her dead mother. So, now that you know I’m personally connected to this, what do you plan to do?”

 

“I don’t…I’m not going to do anything. I just wanted to know what you’ve been keeping a secret for weeks now.”

 

“That right? Not going to portal back to dear, cousin Donato and tell him all you know?”

 

“I…no, of course not.”

 

“Fringilla, you should know by now, I have spies everywhere. There’s little that I don’t know – especially in that snake’s den that is the capital.”

 

“So…I visit my cousin from time to time. So what? We’re family. I’ve never hidden that fact, unlike you with the history professor.”

 

“Uh huh.  He still promising you the throne of Toussaint for spying on me and the Emperor? Please tell me that you don’t actually believe him.”

 

“How do you…”

 

“You know, I was hoping that I was wrong,” Malek said. To Fringilla’s ears, he sounded almost sad.  “Hoping that for once I was wrong about sorceresses…wrong about people, in general.” Then, he gave a small laugh, but there was absolutely no mirth in it. “Hoping that you had some kind of genuine affection for me.  That maybe after this was over, we could take a trip together, just the two of us.  I don’t think I’ve had a real vacation in fifteen years.”

 

Fringilla was shocked.  This was not the same man that she’d met many months ago. She’d obviously known that she and Malek were sexually compatible, but she never would have even imagined that he might want something more. She wasn’t sure what to think about that, but then she remembered - she’d sworn that she’d never let her guard down again.

 

“You’re not wrong, Malek,” she said tenderly. “I do…have affection for you. Yes, I was looking through your things, but not to tell Donato or anyone else what I’d found.  I just wanted to know more about you because you never tell me anything.  I’ve been helping you chase this historian for months, and I didn’t even know she was related to you. Is this why you’re still chasing her, because she’s your niece?  It can’t be because you’re still loyal to Emhyr, right?”

 

She carefully put the picture down and approached Malek. She reached up and touched his chest. “Let me in, Malek. Please. I do care for you. Please believe me.”

 

He caressed her face.

 

“Are those the same words you used on the witcher all those years ago, back in Toussaint?”

 

She reached up as high as she could and slapped him. “You bastard.”

 

“You were sent to spy on him, too, weren’t you?”

 

She tried to slap him again, but he easily caught her slender wrist in his huge hand.

 

“Just go away, Fringilla. Do us both a favor and just…go back to Donato. You’ll make a fine duchess.”

 

oOo

 

            “Any luck?” asked Philippa after her brother walked into their room and plopped down on a nearby chair.

 

            “I must have asked every hayseed in this bumpkin town about Duilichinn Pass,” he answered. “Nobody’s heard of it.”

 

            The two of them had arrived via portal in the little town of Santoh later in the same day that Malek and his men had ridden out.

 

            “There was one old man who said he’d ventured high up in the mountains one time in his youth.  Claimed that there was a lake somewhere up there in the clouds. Said that’s where the Imlebar River originates. Also, said that it looked like there might’ve been a trail that continued upward at one point, but that it looked like rockslides had closed it off centuries before. So…”

 

            “So, that means I’ll have to continue flying over them in the desert each evening until we can figure out exactly where they’re going.”

 

            “That or fly over the mountains. Try to find that lake. Maybe that’ll lead us to the pass,” said Oran. “Either way, I need a meal and a soft bed. Wake me when you get back.”

 

oOo

 

“There they are,” said the witcher. “The Tir Torchair Mountains.”

 

“Finally,” said Barcain.

 

It had been four days since the four Westerners had left Gearrlon for the Duilichinn Pass. They now stood on a high, sandy dune in the Korath Desert looking westward.  Though the sun had not yet risen, the sky was a lighter shade of blue, pink, and purple in the east. The mountain range still looked to be far away, like it might take the rest of the morning before they’d reach its base.

 

“You know, growing up in Vicovaro, the ‘Tears’ were a constant presence, but I’ve never seen them from this side,” said Evie. “It’s a little strange.  Like seeing a school age boyfriend twenty years later. You can still recognize him, but he’s different, too.”

 

“You’re weird, Angel,” said Barcain.

 

Evie stuck out her tongue at her brother.

 

“Real mature,” he replied.

 

Several hours later, they came over a rise, and down below them, they spotted a small oasis. They urged their camels forward, but when they got to within about fifty yards, their mounts starting acting jittery. 

 

“What is going on?” asked Lydial, trying to calm her camel.

 

“Hold on,” said the witcher, dismounting. “I’m going to do a little recon. I’ll be right back.”

 

            The three of them watched the witcher walk off towards the oasis.  When he got half-way there, he suddenly stopped and pulled his silver sword. He stood there for over a minute, not moving.  Finally, he began moving back towards them, all the while still facing the oasis.  After he traveled backwards for about ten yards, he turned and ran back to where they were waiting. 

 

            “We need to thank these smelly beasts,” said Geralt, referring to the camels.  “I don’t know exactly what’s in that pool of water, but I definitely heard something, and it didn’t sound good. I suggest we steer clear. We don’t need the water that badly. We still have enough to last us for a few days more.”

 

            Two hours later, they came to the base of the mountains. They split up and rode off in opposite directions. Eventually, Barcain and Lydial spotted what looked to be an old trail that made its way upward.  After fetching Geralt and Evie, the four of them started the long, slow climb towards the crest, with Geralt in the lead and Barcain bringing up the rear.

 

            Even though it was the middle of the afternoon, the heat, while still uncomfortable, was no longer oppressive now that they were out of the desert and into higher elevations. That was the good news. The bad news was that they eventually had to dismount as the camels were not used to walking in that particular type of steep, rocky terrain. None of them wanted to be riding atop one of the tall animals if it slipped and fell.

 

oOo

 

            High above, at the very top of the mountain’s summit, a man suddenly appeared.   He was bald and wore a brownish, mustard yellow top with blue trousers. He gazed far down the eastern slope of the mountain to a group leading their camels.  From where he sat, they looked like ants.  He then turned and peered down the western slope.  He saw another group ascending that side of the mountain. A small smile came to his face, and he softly clapped his hands together three times.  He immediately disappeared, and, suddenly, the darkest of clouds formed over the mountain. A moment later, a flash of lightning split the sky and torrents of rain began pouring down.

 

oOo

 

            It was late afternoon, and the rain still fell.  The four of them were completely soaked when Geralt came to a fork in the trail.  The trail to his right seemed to continue up towards the mountain peak while the one to his left led to a small, flat clearing – a clearing located right in front of a cave entrance.

 

            The witcher stopped and turned to face the others.

 

            “What do you think?” he asked. “Keep going up or take shelter in that cave?”

 

            Their votes were unanimous.

 

            Geralt led them towards the cave, and once they walked through the entrance and lit a torch, Evie let out a gasp.

 

            “Look at the size of this place,” she exclaimed, holding the torch out in front of her. “This is the biggest cavern I’ve ever seen.”

 

            “I can’t see where it ends,” said Lydial. “Do you think it goes all the way to the other side of the mountain?”

 

            “Don’t know,” said the witcher. “Never been on this mountain before.”

 

            “If so, it could save us several hours of hiking,” said Barcain. “It’d take us another half-day to finally make it over and down the pass.”

 

            “What do you think, Geralt?” asked Evie. “You’ve been in more caves and caverns than all of us combined. Should we see if it goes through to the other side?”

 

            Suddenly, the sky outside lit up with a flash and a loud clap of thunder echoed into the cavern, startling the humans and camels alike. Then, a moment later, they heard rumbling coming from above them.  The noise lasted for at least half a minute.

 

            “Damn, that lightning strike sounded close,” said Barcain as Geralt started to exit the cave.

 

            “Where are you going?” asked Evie.

 

            “That sounded like a rock slide,” he replied.

 

            Fifteen minutes later, the witcher returned, his medium-length, wet hair hanging down near his eyes. 

 

            “Looks like the decision has been made for us,” he said. “About a quarter mile up, a rock slide has completely blocked the trail. It’d probably take us a day -  maybe even two -to clear it enough to get through.”

 

            “The cavern it is, then,” said Barcain.

 

oOo

 

            “Oh, my,” said Evie. “Look at this.”

 

            The four of them had been walking deeper into the cavern for a quarter of an hour when the light from Evie’s torch had reflected off something metallic in some rocks off to the right of their pathway.  Being the historian that she was, she had ventured over to investigate.

 

            “It’s part of a skeleton with a sword and armor,” she said breathlessly. “Geralt, have you ever seen a sword like this?”

 

            The witcher walked over and peered down.  His eyes scanned over everything, and then he nodded.

 

            “Aen Seidhe” he said.

 

            She looked up with excitement in her eyes. “Are you sure?”

 

            “The shape of the skull is more elven than human,” he answered, “but even if I’m wrong about that, the sword is definitely in the Aen Seidhe style. See how the blade has that unique curvature?”

 

            “Then, this has got to be one of the Aen Seidhe who was returning from Gearrlon,” exclaimed Evie.

 

            “Really?” asked Barcain. “That happened almost a thousand years ago.  Wouldn’t the bones have totally disintegrated by now?”

 

            Evie shook her head.  “Not necessarily.  This cavern is right next to the desert – very warm and arid.  In these conditions, bones could easily last a thousand years or more.”

 

            “She’s right,” said Geralt.

 

            “So, do you know what this means?” Evie asked.

 

            “Yes,” answered Lydial. “That we’re on the right track.”

 

            “Maybe there’s something down here that will tell us where to go next,” Evie said with a smile. “I’ll search his body.”

 

oOo

 

            “Come on!” shouted Malek to his men behind him. “I see a cave up ahead.  We’ll head there till this storm passes.”

 

            The seven soldiers urged their horses up the western slope of the mountain and towards the refuge from the storm.

 

oOo

 

            Geralt and the others came around a slight bend within the cave, and even though it was overcast and stormy outside, they could still see natural light coming into the cavern from somewhere up ahead. 

 

            “The exit must be close!” said Lydial. 

 

            “Damn it,” said Evie quietly.

 

            “What is it?” asked Lydial.

 

            “There was nothing down here.”

 

            The group had found the skeletal remains of two more Aen Seidhe, but neither had held any kind of documents or evidence that could serve as clues for the foursome. 

 

            “Looks like our adventure really is over,” the historian said.

 

            They kept moving slowly forward – leading their camels by the reins - but as they continued on toward the dim light that they assumed was coming in through the cavern’s exit, Evie noticed that the cavern floor was darker up ahead. 

 

            “Whoa. Hold up,” said the witcher, as he suddenly stopped walking and raised his hand in a fist.

 

            Evie walked up next to him and looked straight down into total darkness.  They were standing next to an abyss.  Evie looked across and could tell that it was about fifty feet to the other side, but when she looked back down, she couldn’t see the bottom of the abyss even with a torch in her hand.

 

            “Can you see how far down it goes?” she asked Geralt.

 

            “Yeah, not that far.  Maybe forty feet.  But, long enough of a drop that it’d probably kill you, though. Or, at least, shatter a lot of bones.”

 

            “Can you see anything down there?”

 

            “Give me your torch.”

 

            The witcher laid down flat on his belly, with his head hanging over the edge of the abyss.  He reached down with the torch as far as he could. 

 

            “I’m not sure, but I think I see at least two other sets of armor and skeletal remains.”

 

            He heard his wife suck in her breath.  He rolled over onto his side and looked up at her.  He could see her staring at him with hopeful eyes while slightly biting her lower lip.  He knew that look.

 

            “You want me to go down there, don’t you?”

 

            “Only if you think it’s safe.”

 

oOo

 

            On the eastern slope of the mountain, a portal opened on the clearing just in front of the cavern’s entrance. Out stepped Philippa and Oran.

 

            “They entered just a few minutes ago,” said the sorceress.  “Let’s hurry. If there is anything in there worth finding, I want to be there when they discover it.”

 

            She immediately changed into her owl form while her brother cast his spell and turned invisible.

 

oOo

 

            After retrieving the rope from his saddlebags, the witcher secured one end to a nearby rock outcropping and then threw the loose end over the precipice.  While Geralt was doing that, Barcain had noticed, about twenty feet away, a naturally-made rock bridge that spanned the abyss, but no one was willing to cross it just yet.  No one knew if it would support their weight, much less that of their camels. They decided to let the witcher inspect and test the stability of its columns from down below before they risked it.

 

            The witcher held onto the rope with both hands – one in front of him and the other behind him next to his hip - while leaning back over the ledge.  He looked at his wife one last time before jumping backwards and disappearing into the darkness below.

 

Hidden in the shadows of the cavern, a pair of dark eyes was watching the foursome with interest.  The man had been following them since they’d entered the cave, and as he watched the witcher repel into the abyss, he smiled.  His plan was going perfectly, just like clockwork.

 

oOo

 

            “Do you hear that?” asked Timataal.  He and the rest had just brought themselves and their horses in from the storm. 

 

            “Yeah,” answered Malek.  “It sounded like voices coming from deeper in the cavern.”

 

            “It could be them.”

 

            “Only one way to find out.” 

 

Five minutes later, Malek and his men had lit torches in hand and began walking deeper into the cave.

 

oOo

 

            The witcher repelled down the side of the abyss’ wall, and as soon as his feet landed softly on the rocky ground below, he unsheathed his silver sword.  He slowly turned his body in a circle, using his senses to detect any danger. He didn’t hear or smell anything that would cause concern, but he did see, at the far end of the abyss, a large hole – at least ten feet high and ten feet wide – in the side of a wall that led to who knows where. He didn’t know what – if anything – was in there, but he didn’t figure it would be cute and cuddly.

 

            Geralt walked over to the first skeleton and quickly searched around it but didn’t find anything of note.  He looked over at the second skeleton and immediately noticed something different about it.  Unlike the first, which was lying flat on the ground, this skeleton seemed to be sitting up, with its back against the wall of the abyss.  Geralt made some quick assumptions and concluded that, while the first Aen Seidhe had probably fallen from above and died where he or she landed, the second elf had probably survived its fall.  The witcher seriously doubted that an elf would fall and land perfectly in a seated, up-right position.

 

            The witcher’s imagination started to run a bit.  He wondered what must have gone through this Aen Seidhe’s mind as he or she sat down there in the darkness, especially when they realized that no one was coming to rescue them. When it finally dawned on them that the abyss would be their tomb.  He wondered if this elf had believed in Essea and had called out to him in his final moments. As Geralt knelt next to the skeleton, those thoughts immediately drifted away when he caught sight of a large satchel laying at its side.

 

            The White Wolf lifted his head and carefully looked around the bottom of the abyss one more time.  Not sensing any danger, he sheathed his sword and then reached forward and gently opened the thick satchel.  Inside, he saw numerous cylindrically-shaped objects.  He grabbed one and slowly pulled it out of the satchel.  The smooth cylinder was about eighteen inches long, roughly the thickness of his forearm, and made of some type of hard substance.  He saw that one end of the cylinder had a cap or stopper.  He gently removed the end of the cylinder, snapped his fingers to create a small Igni flame, and then peered inside the container.  What he saw made him exhale deeply.

 

            After extinguishing the small flame, he looked above him and called out, “Evie, how much do you love me?”

 

“With all my heart. Why?”

 

            “Because you’re about to love me even more. I found…let’s see…eleven thick scrolls on this Aen Seidhe.”

 

“Oh my gosh.”

 

“Toss down your satchel.  This one down here is about to fall to pieces.” 

 

“No way. I’m coming down,” the historian answered.  “I need to see everything down there.”

 

 Almost immediately, Geralt saw his wife appear over the edge of the abyss.  She wrapped the rope around one of her legs and used both her hands and her feet to slowly and carefully climb her way down.  A minute later, Evie hurried over to Geralt.  She was a little out of breath and her eyes were wide with excitement. When Geralt handed the cylinder over to her, he noticed that her hands were trembling.

 

“This is so amazing,” she said, looking at her husband. “Do you realize what we may have just found?”

 

She looked back down at the cylinder.

 

“Geralt, can you give me a little light, please?”

 

After he signed a small flame, Evie gently pulled the scroll from the cylinder and then unfurled it.  Her eyes methodically moved over the first page, and then she looked up with a smile.

 

“This is it, Geralt. This is it,” she said breathlessly. “We have just discovered the most important writings in the history of…history.”

 

The witcher smiled back at his wife.  “Congratulations, baby. I’m happy for you.”

 

Evie then gazed into her husband’s face. “You know what the best part is?”

 

“What’s that?”  


“I got to do all of this with the love of my life.”

 

Geralt smiled. “Yeah, it’ll be a helluva story to tell our kids.”

 

Evie laughed and then looked upward.

 

“Nain, we did it. It’s the Essean texts.”

 

            Less than a minute later, they’d just finished transferring all the cylinders into Evie’s satchel when, suddenly, the witcher heard noises coming from the large hole at the end of the abyss.

 

“Hurry, Evie, we’ve got company!” he yelled as he pulled her over to the rope.  He put the satchel over her head and then quickly wrapped the rope under her arms and tied off the end.

 

He then yelled upward towards Lydial and Barcain, “Pull her up! Now!”

 

The witcher didn’t even bother to watch his wife climbing/being pulled up the side. He immediately turned toward the unmistakable sound of mandibles clicking together. He unsheathed his silver blade, cast a Quen, and reached up to his bandolier. As soon as he saw the Aculeomorphs appear out of the darkness, he tossed the Dancing Star in their direction. The bomb exploded, catching both of the giant scorpions on fire. He moved in closer to brandish his sword, when he noticed two more giant scorpions coming up behind the first two.

 

Evie heard the explosion below her and then could see the dark cavern light up with flames.  She didn’t turn around to look though. She just kept climbing as fast as her tired arms could take her.  She looked up to see Barcain at the edge of the precipice, pulling the rope with all his might.  As she finally got to the top, Lydial grabbed her by the hand and pulled her safely onto hard ground, but she didn’t stop to rest.  She immediately untied the rope from around her and tossed it back down into the abyss.

 

“Geralt,” she screamed. “The rope is down!” 

 

She was on her belly, her head over the edge, trying to get a glimpse her husband, but she was having trouble seeing.  Shadows from the flames were dancing everywhere along the abyss’ walls.  The witcher would only appear for a moment, spinning through the air, the flames reflecting off of his silver sword, before he’d quickly be swallowed by the darkness again.  She couldn’t tell what was happening below.

 

            The witcher had killed three of the Aculeomorphs, but two more were coming his way. 

 

_“To hell with this,”_ he thought. _“I’ll take the high ground.”_

He quickly ran over to the rope and flew up the side of the forty-foot wall.  After getting to the top, he immediately got to his feet and was about to toss more bombs down into the abyss when he saw the looks on both Evie and Lydial’s face. It was an expression of shock and fear, and they were staring across the abyss to the other side. He turned around to see Malek and six other men poised on the other side of the chasm, fifty feet away, with torches in one hand and weapons in the other.

They were all just standing there, staring at each other in silence when the witcher heard clicking sounds getting closer.

 

“Get back!” he yelled. “They’re climbing the walls!”

 

            Suddenly, large pinchers appeared over the edge of the abyss, followed by the rest of the giant scorpions – one on the witcher’s side and one on Malek’s. Before any of the Nilfgaardians could even make a move, one was impaled through his gut by the spear-like tail of the Aculeomorph.  The giant insect lifted the screaming man into the air and brought him towards its mouth, where it quickly and easily bit off his head and then flung the rest of his body aside.  The giant scorpion then turned and began skittering towards the other six men.

 

oOo

 

            The other Aculeomorph reached the top of the abyss and turned towards Barcain. In an instant, the witcher saw that it was about to impale his brother-in-law with its tail, and he immediately cast an Aard at Barcain, knocking the man off his feet and backward a good twenty feet. The scorpion slashed its tail - with its sharp stinger - forward but found nothing but air. The monster-slayer quickly cast an Igni stream at the creature as Evie and Lydial fled to the other side of the cavern towards where Barcain was just getting back to his feet.

 

oOo

 

            Malek watched as the giant scorpion snatched up one of his men in its pinchers and cut the screaming man’s body in half.  He drew his weapon from his side, aimed it at the giant scorpion’s head, and slammed the plunger forward.  Shrapnel fired out of the weapon’s end and into the creature’s body, and Malek saw blood – or some kind of fluid – pour from the monster’s head, but it wasn’t dead. Not even close. 

 

But, the injury did get its attention, and it turned toward Malek. The big man frantically twisted the cylinder in his weapon as the creature rushed towards him. He saw it impale another one of his men with its tail, but it didn’t even bother to stop.  It was coming for him.  Malek raised his weapon and fired again, the blast reverberating off the cavern’s walls. More blood oozed from the creature, but it still kept coming.  He knew he didn’t have time for another shot with his weapon. He dropped it to the ground and pulled his sword just as the giant scorpion raised both its pinchers high in the air above him. He glanced up to see the pinchers open wide and coming in his direction.

 

oOo

 

            Hidden behind some rocks on the witcher’s side of the abyss was owl-Philippa, watching the utter chaos below her.

 

            _“Let’s add to it, shall we?”_ she thought to herself gleefully.           

 

            She flew down to the cavern floor, changed into her human form, and then began chanting an intricate spell. Thirty seconds later, a ten-foot tall, earth elemental appeared in the middle of the cavern.  Philippa immediately changed back into her owl form and flew into the air.

 

oOo

 

            Malek raised his sword into a defensive position, not sure what he was going to do if the giant scorpion attacked with both pinchers when he suddenly heard a yell coming from behind the creature.  He looked up to see Timataal jump onto the monster’s relatively flat back.  The burly man fell to his knees, lifted his sword high above his head in both hands, and lunged forward towards the monster’s head.  As he fell, he drove his blade through the Aculeomorph’s brain, killing it instantaneously.  As the creature’s legs collapsed from underneath it, and its body slammed to the ground, Timataal fell off its back and rolled towards Malek’s feet. 

 

            Malek looked down at his best friend, nodded his head, and exhaled deeply.

 

            “Nice one,” he said as he reached down and offered the barrel-chested man a hand up.

 

oOo

 

            The witcher had just cut off one of the giant scorpion’s pinchers and was blasting it with a stream of fire, when something caught his attention out of the corner of his eye. He turned his head just slightly to see an owl fly down from the darkness towards Evie. He knew that owl. He immediately stopped casting his Igni Sign and ran towards his wife.

 

oOo

 

            Malek had picked up his weapon and was about the cross the stone bridge to the other side of the abyss when he saw Philippa Eilhart materialize a few feet from Evie.  The sight of that insane woman – especially so close to his own flesh and blood – caused anger to flood through his mind.  He raised his weapon and looked down the sights at the sorceress from Montecalvo.  He gritted his teeth and slammed his left palm forward and into the firing mechanism.  A blast exploded forth from the chamber’s end, and as the smoke cleared, Malek lifted his eyes over the sights of the weapon to see just what damage that he’d done.

 

            His eyes widened in shock and his mouth dropped open. He felt as if he’d just been punched in the gut. This wasn’t right. How had this happened? He’d been aiming at Eilhart.  He’d had the witch in his sights. He knew that he had. So, why was his weapon now pointed in Evangeline’s direction?

 

oOo

 

            Geralt was halfway to his wife when he saw Malek fire his weapon from across the abyss, and then he heard Evie scream out in pain and fall to the ground.  Suddenly, Philippa was there, crouching over Evie, trying to take the satchel from her shoulder.  The witcher cast a powerful Aard at the witch, blowing her across the cavern, her body slamming hard into a rock wall. 

 

            Time seemed to stand still as the witcher stood over Evie’s body, staring across the chasm and into Malek’s eyes.  He could sense the rage overtake him, and he suddenly felt the urge to run across the stone bridge and strike the bastard down. He took two steps in Malek’s direction when, somehow, through all the chaos around him, he heard the wolf-head medallion on Evie’s chest suddenly vibrate. He immediately turned and then felt a knife pierce his left side and slide past his lower ribs.

 

            With a quickness that only he possessed, the witcher snapped his right hand across his body and grasped the invisible arm that held the knife, keeping it from ripping upward and doing more damage.  Though he couldn’t see his attacker, he could hear the man grunt next to him so the monster-slayer raised his left arm and began slamming his elbow backwards towards the man’s head as violently as he possibly could. He kept at it over and over, hearing bone and cartilage snapping.  Still grasping tightly onto the arm that had been holding the knife, the witcher jerked the invisible body in front of him and, with everything he had, cast the most intense Igni flame that he could.  The invisible man caught fire, and his screams echoed throughout the cavern as his skin began to melt off his face.

 

            The witcher noticed movement to his left and looked up to see Philippa Eilhart standing again and about to cast a spell in his direction. As she threw her arms forward to propel the spell at the witcher, he quickly pivoted his body, using the invisible man as shield.  The sorceress’ powerful spell impacted Oran’s body, and it exploded into pieces, blood and small bits of flesh saturating the air.

 

            Philippa’s eyes went wide, and then, through the mist walked the witcher, soaked red with blood. To her, he looked like a demon stalking forth from the bowels of hell.  She began to cast another spell, but she wasn’t fast enough.  The Butcher of Blaviken brought both hands forward, and with a guttural yell, he blasted the witch with two bolts of lightning.  She fell to the ground, and as he continued slowly walking towards her, he maintained the Sign, relishing her screams as the lightning flowed through her body. So focused was the witcher on killing the witch that he didn’t notice a giant, earth elemental charging his way.  The monster-slayer turned his head at the last second, right before the magical creature knocked him through the air and over the edge of the abyss.

 

oOo

 

            Barcain watched Geralt fight with some invisible opponent, and then when he saw the witcher turn his focus towards the witch, he ran over to Evie and took the satchel from around her shoulder.  He then grabbed Lydial roughly by the arm and began dragging her towards the stone bridge that spanned the abyss. 

 

            Lydial began protesting.

 

            “No, we’ve got to help them.”

 

            Barcain slapped his grandmother across the face as hard as he could.

 

            “Shut up! Before I really hurt you! You’re coming with me!”

 

            He continued to push her across the bridge in front of him, and as they approached the other side, he saw Malek just stepping onto the bridge, coming their way.  Barcain reached up and grabbed two bombs off of Lydial’s bandolier and tossed them at the other end of the stone path.  When the bombs exploded, the rock bridge cracked and then slowly began to crumble and fall. 

 

            Barcain pushed Lydial onward and past Malek, who was now stopped, staring across the abyss at Evie’s prone figure.

               

            It was at that moment that Malek’s eyes shifted - watching the witcher’s body cart-wheeling through the air and falling into the abyss.  He looked across the chasm to see Philippa slowly getting to her knees. He raised his weapon and fired.  This time, he hit his intended target, and the sorceress fell back down to the cavern floor. 

 

oOo

 

            Geralt was falling through the air, but with his incredible body awareness, he was able to twist himself into a position to ensure he wouldn’t land on his head, and then he braced himself for a hard impact.  He landed, and the breath was immediately knocked out of him, but he quickly assessed his body and didn’t feel any fractures.  He glanced down and saw that he’d fortunately landed on top of one of the Aculeomorph corpses.  It had cushioned his fall just enough that he hadn’t broken any bones.  He pressed his hand to his side, and when he pulled it back, he saw blood.  He wasn’t sure how serious the wound was, but he didn’t have time to figure it out now. He scrambled to his feet, stumbled back over to the rope that was still hanging down into the abyss, and then he began to climb.

 

            When Geralt got to the top, he saw the earth elemental standing at the edge of the abyss twenty feet away.  It was facing the others on the far side of the chasm, roaring, and throwing small, conjured boulders in their direction.  He glanced at his wife still lying on the cavern floor.  He wanted to go to her, but he knew that he had to finish off the elemental first. He got to his feet, unsheathed his sword, and staggered toward the monster.  He reached up to his bandolier and realized he had no more bombs left.

 

            “Swell.”

 

            The magical construct turned, saw an enemy, let out another loud roar, and charged the witcher. Geralt dodged the monster and sliced his blade into it as it passed.  This went on three more times – him dodging and cutting into the magical creature - before the witcher came out of a roll and found himself standing in front of the cavern’s side wall. He knew that he needed to end this soon. He could tell he was losing blood from his side, and, more importantly, he had to check on Evie. The monster charged again, and the witcher let loose with the most powerful Blyx Sign he could muster.  The lightning bolt impacted the monster right in the chest from ten feet away. The electrical charge destroyed the monster’s magical core, but the two-ton construct’s momentum couldn’t be stopped. It continued forward, toward the witcher, who easily dodged to his right to avoid its impact.  The giant monster crashed into the cavern wall, causing a large crack in the stone – a large crack running upwards. Geralt heard the noise and quickly looked up to see that the ceiling of the cavern above him was about to give way. He immediately dove head-first for safety but, while in mid-air, he was slammed to the ground and instantly felt the most intense pain shooting through his leg.

                       

            The witcher couldn’t see much since dust and dirt had kicked up around him, but he could hear yelling echoing throughout the cavern.  Then, he realized that the yelling was coming from him. As the dust cleared, he looked down and saw that his lower right leg had been completely crushed by an enormous slab of stone that had fallen from the cavern ceiling. In fact, his leg wasn’t just crushed. It was pulverized.  He couldn’t see his foot or lower calf at all, for there wasn’t even a quarter inch of space between the slab and the cavern’s rock floor.

 

            Geralt immediately turned his head and threw up – the pain so severe that it made his stomach lurch.  Not even bothering to wipe the spittle from his chin, he reached for the small pouch on his belt, retrieved a Swallow potion, and downed it.  He then tried to pull his leg out from under the rock, but it wouldn’t budge, and the pain almost made him pass out. The witcher growled, gritted his teeth and pressed both hands to his temples, trying to fight off the blackness that was starting to encroach on his vision. He had to stay conscious, he thought. For Evie. He blinked his eyes several times, and then he raised his torso up and unsheathed the knife from his thigh.  He jabbed at both the stone slab and the rock floor with the tip of the knife to test how hard or soft they were.  His blade barely even scratched the surface.  He realized it’d take him weeks to chisel enough of the rock away to be able to pull himself free.

 

            Sweat pouring from his face, the witcher laid back down on the cavern floor and frantically tried to think of something – some way to free himself. It was then that he heard a voice calling from the other side of the abyss.

 

“Sorry it had to end this way, Geralt. You’re actually not so bad – for a mutant,” said Barcain with a smile on his face. “But that’s life for you. I guess Uncle Malek and I will have to find the Sword ourselves. Oh, yeah, he and I have been working together this whole time.  Bet you feel real stupid, huh? And thanks for letting little sis keep the working medallion.  As soon as you told me that yours didn’t sense magic anymore, I knew I was free to contact Malek with my megascope again. Well, see you around.” Then he cocked his head to the side. “Actually, looks like I won’t.”

 

He then grabbed Lydial by the arm. “Let’s go, Nain.”

 

“Barcain, what is wrong with you? How could you betray your own sister, your own family?” Tears were streaming down her cheeks.

 

“Nain, I said ‘Let’s go.’ I will tie you up and drag you with us if I have to.  But, you are coming along. How you come along is your choice.”

 

She let herself be pulled away from the abyss, but she kept looking back over her shoulder at Geralt and Evie lying on the cavern floor.

 

Everyone exited the cavern until only Malek was left. He was staring hard at Evie.  The witcher heard him mumble something under his breath, but from that distance, he couldn’t discern the words. Then, he looked at Geralt, shook his head, and turned and left the cavern.

 

The witcher then twisted his body and craned his neck so that he could look at his wife.  She was on her side, and her eyes were still open, looking right at him. Her right arm was stretched in his direction, as if she was reaching out to him. The front of her shirt was soaked with blood and her breathing was slow.

 

            Geralt saw her lips move. He couldn’t hear what she said, but he knew that she was saying his name.

 

            “Baby, listen to me, okay?” Geralt pleaded.  “You gotta listen. The health potion, in the small pouch on your bandolier – you’ve got to take that, okay?”

 

            He saw her slowly blink her eyes, and she reached upward towards her chest, but it was as if she had no control over her arm or hand.  Her fingers brushed against the pouch but never grabbed hold, and her arm fell back down to the ground.

 

            “Evie! Baby! You gotta hang on! Stay with me, Evie! Stay with me! You gotta get the health potion!”

 

            The witcher turned back to the rock pinning his leg and pulled with all his might, letting out a mighty roar.

 

            His yell echoed throughout the cavern, but his leg didn’t move an inch.

 

            He turned back towards his wife and reached out with his left arm as far as he could.

 

            “Evie! You gotta take the health potion!”

 

            His fingertips were less than a yard from his wife’s, but no matter how hard he tried he couldn’t get any closer. He shifted his gaze from her outstretched hand towards her face, and he saw her lips move again and then she slowly closed her eyes. He noticed a tear run across the bridge of her nose and fall to the cavern floor. And then the witcher watched his wife breathe her last.

 

            “Evie, baby, no…you gotta stay with me! You gotta stay with me…you gotta stay with me.”

 

The last was only said in a whisper as a look of resignation came to his face. He stopped struggling to free himself of the rock, and just lay on the cavern floor, staring at his wife.  

                       

            The witcher felt like the world had stopped.  It was just him and Evie in that cavern, and nothing anywhere else mattered.

 

            “You can’t go, Evie,” he whispered. “What about all our plans? We were gonna watch a thousand sunsets. See the fields of White Orchard covered in virgin snow. Make a home…together.”

 

            The witcher just lay there staring at his wife for another minute before he finally closed his eyes and dropped his head back onto the cavern floor.

 

            “Evie,” he whispered.

 

            He was, suddenly, torn from his thoughts by the sound of clicking mandibles. The sound was down in the abyss, but the witcher could tell it was getting closer.  He once again raised up and looked at his leg. He put his left foot against the stone and tried with all his strength to push it off and pull himself free, but it was just too heavy.  As the Aculeomorph continued its climb up the wall, the witcher knew he only had one real choice if he was going to keep Evie from being eaten.  He quickly reached into his pouch, took out another Swallow and a Tawny Owl, and immediately downed them both.  He unsheathed his steel sword from his back and placed the blade across his leg right next to the slab’s surface. He held the hilt in his right hand and the end of the blade in his left.  He breathed deeply twice and then raised the sword two feet into the air. With a yell, he brought it down onto his shin and sliced off the lower part of his leg.

 

            While his screams filled the cavern, he grabbed his right knee with his right hand and pulled his leg up towards his chest. He then cast the most powerful stream of Igni that he could at the stump of the leg, hoping to cauterize the wound.  The pain was unbearable, the stench of his own burning flesh filled his nostrils, and his yells echoed in his hears, but he kept the Igni flames on the end of the stump until he could stand it no more.

 

            He then turned and immediately crawled in front of Evie’s body just as the giant Scorpion slowly climbed over the edge of the abyss.  He immediately cast a Quen, and when the monster struck forward with its tail, the witcher swung his sword from his knees and sliced off its stinger.  The creature let out a screech and backed up. This gave the monster-slayer the chance to cast a Blyx Sign, and lightning struck the Aculeomorph. As it fell to the ground, its muscles twitching, the witcher raised up onto his left foot, took two big hops forward and lunged at the monster’s head. The White Wolf let out a roar as he fell towards the monster’s open maw.

 

oOo

 

            Thunder cracked overhead, and the rain continued to fall. 

 

_“The weather certainly fits the mood,”_ thought Timataal.

 

Five rode their horses down the western slope of the Tir Torchair mountain. Four in silence while one – Barcain – prattled on about what clues the Essean texts might reveal about the Sword’s location. Timataal wanted to gut the asshole just to get him to shut up.  Couldn’t he see that his kin were hurting? 

 

Timataal took a peek at his best friend’s face, still etched with anguish.  While he knew Malek was grieving the loss of four of his men, he also knew that the giant of a man had someone else on his mind at the moment.  Occasionally, he’d see Malek turn in the saddle and gaze back up towards the top of the mountain – towards the cavern.  When Timataal looked back, it seemed that the clouds were even blacker and thicker up above, and the rain was pouring down in sheets.  In fact, he didn’t think he could even see the summit anymore. It was covered in darkness.   

 

oOo

 

            Geralt woke, laying across his wife’s body.  The pain in his leg was fierce, as if every nerve was still on fire.  He pushed himself off of Evie and sat on the cavern floor.  The cavern itself was completely dark now so Geralt dilated his pupils as wide as possible.  He looked down at his leg, and as gently as possible, he tried to pull the charred fabric of his trousers from his leg so that he could get a better look at the wound. However, most of the fabric was stuck to the skin so he just left it in place.  It didn’t look to be bleeding, and he wanted to keep it that way. 

 

            He looked down at his wife and then around him.  There were bodies – or parts of bodies - of dead humans, giant scorpions, and an earth elemental laying everywhere.  At that moment, he really wanted to get his wife out of that cavern of death, but with the stone bridge across the abyss damaged, that meant there was only one way he could go.

 

            The witcher stared at his wife for a moment and clenched his jaw. He then laid down next to her and gently rolled her onto her side. With his right arm, he hugged her to his chest, and then he began crawling on his left side, using his arm and good leg to inch his way along. Her hair was right in his face, and he could easily detect her scent – just the faintest hint of vanilla.  He closed his eyes and breathed in deeply, wanting to stop where he was and just hold her forever in that cavern. But, he knew that he couldn’t let his grief overwhelm him. So, instead of his sadness, he began to focus on his anger, and as he moved along the cavern floor, dragging Evie with him, his fury grew with every inch that he crawled.

 

An hour later, Geralt crawled out of the cavern through the eastern exit, and he kept crawling until he got to the middle of the small, flat clearing that was directly in front of the cavern.  He then slowly got to his knees. From where he knelt, he could look out eastward and see the Korath Desert stretching on for miles and miles. Lightning flashed across the sky several times, and peals of thunder shook the ground.  The witcher, with his wife’s corpse at his knees, looked up into the storm – a storm that matched what he felt inside.

 

            “Why!?!” he yelled upward. “What was the point of any of this?”

 

            The rain just continued to fall into the witcher’s face.

 

            “Answer me!” His eyes scanned the night sky.  “What do you want from me!?! I tried…I tried everything in my power to keep her safe!  That’s what you told me to do…and I tried!  Why didn’t you help us? Why? Was all this for nothing?”

 

            The witcher stayed silent, just listening, and watching the clouds roll and tumble. Eventually, he lowered his head. His eyes drifted down to Evie. He shook his head and closed his eyes.

 

            “I tried,” he whispered, as his chin fell to his chest. “So, what do you want from me?”

 

            But, still, the rain continued to fall. It fell on the witcher and washed the blood from his hair and face.  Then, like the rain, the witcher fell, too.  His body splashed down into the mud, and he lay on his back, next to his wife, just staring up into the black sky. 

 

            He closed his eyes and whispered one more time, “Please…God…”

 

He wasn’t sure how long he’d lain there when, suddenly, he thought he heard something in the wind – something like a whisper, though he couldn’t hear the words.  He jerked his body up and opened his eyes. He looked around the clearing, but he didn’t see anyone there.  But, then, out in the desert, he didn’t know how far out, he saw the tiniest speck of light. He stared at it for several minutes as it kept getting closer and closer. When it was fifty yards out, he thought that it might be a sprite – he’d run across a few of those mystical little creatures in his time – but as it continued to approach, he quickly changed his mind.  The little light finally stopped about two feet in front of him. 

 

He squinted his eyes and slightly shook his head.  He’d never seen this before.  It wasn’t a sprite. And it wasn’t a common lightning bug. It was just a butterfly, though he didn’t know of any butterfly that emitted light.  And how could the little bug actually fly in this storm?  It should have been impossible. One drop of water on its delicate wings should have knocked it to the ground.  The witcher didn’t know how it was possible, but there it was.  He slowly reached his left hand out in front of him, and the butterfly landed on his finger.  Geralt stared at the insect as it flapped its wings several times, and then it flew up and over Geralt’s head towards the cavern.  The witcher turned around to look at it and noticed that it had stopped at the entrance. He looked down at his wife and then back at the butterfly.  Then, he started crawling on his knees after it, and though a grimace of pain came to his face every time he moved his right leg, the witcher simply stared straight ahead, never taking his eyes off of the small light in front of him. 

 

            Thirty minutes later, Geralt came to the abyss at the other end of the cavern and watched the butterfly descend into it.  He found the rope that was still safely secured in place and lowered himself down to the floor of the chasm.  Upon reaching the bottom, he saw that the insect was hovering in front of the skeletal remains where they’d earlier found the scrolls.

 

            “What is it?” he asked after crawling over to it.

           

            The glowing insect simply flapped its wings, hovering in place over the remains of the Aen Seidhe.  Geralt looked down to the skeleton and then began to methodically search the bones but found nothing. 

 

            He looked up at the butterfly.

 

“There’s nothing here.”

 

Still, the little bug hovered in place.

 

Geralt shook his head but then began to search the cavern floor around the skeleton. He involuntarily held his breath as his fingers brushed against something small and smooth, causing a small tinkling noise against the hard stone.  He grasped a short, thin cylinder in his hand, and as soon as he did, the little bug flew upwards.  The witcher looked up just in time to see it disappear over the edge of the precipice. He then looked back down to the cylinder in his hand.

 

            Though he could see – more or less - in the darkness of the abyss, the witcher decided he needed some more illumination.  He cast an Igni at one of the dead Aculeomorph corpses until it caught on fire.  He then looked at the cylinder in his hand.  He pulled the two ends apart and saw that there was a small piece of parchment inside.  He gently unfurled the paper and tilted it toward the flames so that he could read its words.

 

oOo

 

            Philippa was in a very bad way.  She was bleeding heavily from her right arm, a right arm that she couldn’t even lift anymore. She was also suffering severe after-effects from being electrocuted.  Every muscle in her body twitched, including her heart.  She could tell that something was seriously wrong with it.  It was beating oddly and felt like it was about to burst.  She knew she didn’t have long to live. 

 

That damn witcher.  When the hell did he learn that spell? She felt lucky to be alive, which was more than her dear brother could say, but she knew that she wasn’t going to last much longer.  She could feel the life draining from her.

 

            With all the power that she could muster, she cast a portal, hoping that she had enough control over the Power that she wouldn’t end up over the Great Sea. She crawled through the portal, and after exiting the other side, she collapsed to the floor. She looked up and realized that she had no idea where she was. She appeared to be in a tiny, musty, smelly cabin with a single lamp illuminating the darkness.  That was not where she’d intended to come. 

 

            “Bloody…hell,” she cursed in a weak gasp. “I cannot…die…like this. I am Philippa…bloody…Eilhart.”

 

            “A pleasure to meet you, Miss Eilhart,” came a smooth voice from the darkness.  “You appear to be in need of help.  Perhaps, I can assist.  But, first, allow me to introduce myself.  I am Gaunter O’Dimm, also known as Master Mirror or the Man of Glass.” 

 

            Philippa, unable to lift herself from the floor, simply stared at the bald man from where she lay.

 

            “Would you like my help, Miss Eilhart? Just say the word.”

 

oOo

 

            The witcher gazed down at Evie’s body, lying supine on the ground.  The rain was, unbelievably, still falling hard, and her body was drenched.  He was kneeling beside her, with his knife in hand. 

 

            He looked his wife in the face and said, “I’m sorry, Evie, but I’ve got to do this.”

 

            He, then, unbuttoned her shirt and exposed her abdomen.  He placed the tip of his knife into the skin just below her sternum and then gently pushed it through the skin and muscle below.  After he made a ten-inch incision down towards her belly button, he reached inside the abdominal cavity and cut out her liver.  He sliced the liver with his knife and held the organ in front of him with his right hand.  As his wife’s blood began to pour out, he caught it in a metal vial that he held below in his left hand.

 

After the vial was filled to the top, he put a stopper on its end and laid it down next to him.  He, then, carefully placed her liver back inside of her. He was about to reach for his needle and manticore hair to stitch her back up when he looked down at his hands.  He paused at what he saw, for his hands were covered in his wife’s blood. He turned them over, palms up, and saw that they were even bloodier on that side. The rain was still coming down hard, and the heavy drops fell onto his palms, mingling with Evie’s blood. He just stared at his hands for the longest time, watching the drops of blood, one after another, fall onto his trousers, staining the material red. 

 

Suddenly, Geralt felt something break in his chest, and he bowed his head and cried. He cried harder than he’d ever cried in his life. Even harder than when he’d been a little boy back at Kaer Morhen, before the mutations. No tears came to his eyes, but his body was wracked with sobs, low cries of anguish escaping from his throat. Without consciously thinking of doing so, he slowly lifted his arms to his sides, his palms still facing upward. The storm poured down its rain on the witcher, and with his head still bowed low, he continued to cry, his wife’s blood dripping from his hands. Eventually, between sobs, he spoke in the quietest of voices.  

 

“You’ve broken me,” he whispered. “You’ve broken me…is that what you wanted? Cause you’ve broken me. I’ve got nothing left.”

 

He brought his arms back to his sides and rested his hands on his blood-stained thighs. The witcher stayed in that kneeling position, his head down, the rain soaking every part of him, until the storm finally passed.

 

Later, after he had finished stitching up Evie’s abdomen, he looked up into her lifeless face and saw that the rain had plastered her hair across her cheeks and forehead. He reached up and tenderly brushed the hair to the side and, as was her custom, hooked it behind her ears. He gently ran the fingertips of his left hand over her cheeks and along the small scar on her chin. He stared into his wife’s face, absorbing what he saw, trying to take in, one last time, every single detail – every small wrinkle and freckle.  His eyes then drifted down, drawn to the witcher-medallion resting on her chest – the present that he’d given to her the day they got married.  He unclasped the chain, pulled it from her neck, and looked down at the wolf-head in his hand. He squeezed the medallion tightly and then closed his eyes, thinking of her face on their wedding day, her eyes sparkling with tears of love and a radiant smile of joy. He wanted to burn that image into his memory, but in that moment, remembering that day, that image, made the pain even worse. He opened his eyes and looked at his wife again.

 

“Forgive me, Evie,” he said. “Please…forgive me…that I didn’t save you.”

 

He waited a long time – continuing to stare into her face - as if hoping for a response, but none came.

 

Eventually, the witcher nodded once to himself and said, “Don’t worry, baby. I’m not gonna leave you here. I made you a promise…so we’re going home now, okay?”

 

He swallowed and nodded again. 

 

“I’m gonna take you home.”

 

oOo

 

The End of Book 2: The Wolf Hunts

 

oOo

 

 

Author’s Note (March 2018):

 

I, again, want to thank the developers at CD Projekt Red who created such an amazing game that it inspired me to write this tale. I also want to thank everyone who has left me any kind of feedback in any way.  Your encouragement is greatly appreciated.  Please know that it made a difference. I am also very grateful to my best friend of thirty-five years who acted as a great sounding board during this process. This story is much better because of his insight and suggestions. Thanks, Tim.

 

I’ve already started writing some of Book 3.  I hope to have it fully finished and posted before the year is done, but given how often I get writer’s block, that’s probably an unrealistic expectation.  Regardless, until then, may your lives be filled with grace and peace.


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